


and they grew older

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: I kind of randomly throw shitty images in there., M/M, Post-Sburb, Reincarnation, character death (several times), implied non-con of like minor characters, it may be a little sadstuck, it's like setting the scene... with bodies, lots of random people die, they're not major characters or even minor they're just the background, too much exposition about Dirk and his sad life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 87,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3489173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk is a god and what's this?? 55k of him coming to terms with living forever while all his other friends have died.<br/>the rest of it is my excuse for as many au's for DaveDirk as possible rolled into one fic</p><p>If you don't want to slosh through my 55k of written shit, <b>you can start from chapter 14</b> and it'll be an almost normal fic of movie director Dave and douchebag man Dirk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1a

**Author's Note:**

> This idea of mine has been around in my head for a while now (a year). I had never expected I'd jot it down with Homestuck characters, of all things. (Not that I regret it).
> 
> I suppose this plot could be used with any of the characters, but I like the Striders.
> 
> I'd also like to mention that this story is always undergoing editing. I edit when I feel like it, yup. Dick writer right here. I won't change anything with the plot, just the execution of things. It's a terrible writing habit, I know. But I have precious little patience when it comes to writing, and I tend to upload far too pre-emptively.
> 
> Also **TW** : dumpyard of a city, huge amount of crime as well as **lynching,** etc.  
>  Also **TW** for drinking, **suicide (although they just pop back to life, so...), death** , and nearly the whole lot.

Dirk Strider couldn't die. After winning, the game had kept some of his god powers.

He couldn't remember how they had won. He couldn't remember anything about it but the one, daunting, fact that they all died during the final battle. Every last one except him.

He had pulled the strings, planned concisely, but most of all, struck lucky. The others, their bodies were strewn across paradox space, lifeless eyes staring ahead. Some had been pierced with swords and others had been bludgeoned over and over. He wondered if their game session still existed somewhere, because sometimes he swore dream bubbles passed through. He wondered if their bodies were still rotting away on some unknown planets that no one would ever remember except him.

Dirk would never forget them, but he wouldn't go looking for them again, either. Within the first year, Dirk had actually found the bubbly, grinning Jake. He never told him the truth, never explained how he already knew Jake's favourite movies and habits. A blessed few months, the happiest times, but then Jake had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.

He hadn't survived. There wasn't any technology in this new world that could save him yet.

Dirk wished he had told him the truth, about SBURB and children that died over and over and about manipulation and hate all hidden under a grin.

The new universe was an odd mixture of primitive trolls and primitive humans. There were always so many bodies pushing around the streets and Dirk simply couldn't handle the jostle and bustle. He locked himself away in a shitty apartment, worked on robotics, and didn't know what to do with life. Heroic and just deaths notwithstanding, he was going to live forever. He never made any new friends, because he'd keep his face and teenaged body while they'd grow old and wither.

Everyday was a gruelling cycle of monotony. Everyday he longed for difference. The apartment grew to be torture, a reminder that once upon a time, he had been alone in the middle of the sea; that once upon a time, Roxy Lalonde would giggle and snort into her drinks alongside he; once upon a time, a wide buck-toothed grin would send a jolt through his heart; once upon a time, he met his brother from another world and was swamped by disappointment.

Life was so empty.

\--

The pulse of the club rung through his veins, like a heartbeat. But of course, he was the Prince of Heart, no?

Damnit. He had come to take his mind away from the past, lose himself in the music, not muse again and again. Through the flashing lights and squirming bodies, the only thing he was really interested in was the beat of the songs, the spin of the records.

A record. The scratch, and the creation of an alternate universe.

The club and music idea clearly was not working. Dirk sighed, and eyed the bar. Getting drunk sounded like a good idea, except, woopdedoo, he still looked like a sixteen year old. Screw it, he could play it off.

He couldn't. The bartender gave him one look, and proceeded to tell him to scram. Dirk slumped against the counter, careful to keep his shades resting neatly against his nose bridge. He didn't know why he still wore the things, they constantly reminded him of everything he had lost, but he couldn't bear to throw them away. He briefly reconsidered rebuilding Hal, but it wouldn't be Hal. It'd just be another Auto-responder. No, Hal was somewhere in paradox space, shattered and cracked against the floor when Dirk had been struck once and once again.

But did that mean the Jake he had dated in this world wasn't  _his_ Jake? 

Fuck, he needed to get drunk. Damn the bartender, damn Dirk's body, damn the world. 

"Hey kid," someone slurred behind him, and Dirk jerked upright because  _he knew that voice_. "Looks like you wanna drink." Mother of all fucking shit and coincidences, Roxy Lalonde slid into the seat beside him, and she was older than he remembered. Well, his last memory of her was of blood red and decapitated heads. "I could give you a sip." She said, tilting her wineglass towards him. Her short white hair was painted with a myriad of flashing colours from the lights behind her, and Dirk was so familiar with every detail of her face.

Dirk couldn't seem to open his mouth. "I- Nah. No thanks."

"Mm." She hummed, chugging the wine back before setting the glass against the counter. She turned to face him. "Y'know, you look an awful look like somebody I..." She squinted. 

"We've met." He replied quietly. She somehow heard him over the noise of the club.

"Well, hell, let's have a welcome back party then!" She hadn't changed much, but was she  _his_ Roxy? The one that stood through the flames and the death and came out shining bright as ever?

"Rox-" Dirk's protest was cut off as she materialised a drink from no where and shoved it into his hands.

"Drink away, sweetheart! No one really cares, anyway!" She beamed, but her smile seemed to falter a little. "You know my name, huh. Sorry I don't remember yours. But I think I'd remember such a cute face!"

"It's a pity." He said hollowly, staring at the intoxicating liquid between his hands. She had kept her name, just as English had. He wanted to gush to her about the world, about how horrible it was to be alone, and how much Jake's  _second_ death had broken him, but she wouldn't understand, not like how his Roxy would've. She hadn't been through SBURB, she probably didn't even know Jake. 

But that didn't mean he couldn't be friends. Maybe one day, once they had already established a close bond, he'd be able to tell her the truth without her feeling obligated to stay with him. Maybe. He stared at her slightly crooked grin, and gave a tiny upturn of the lips back. It'd be like Jake all over again, and one day she'd die, too. But until then...

He wasn't living for anything, anyway.

"Say, Roxy Lalonde, did you ever know someone by the name of Jake English?" 

"Yeah!" She beamed, and he was caught wildly off guard. Jake had never mentioned her. But then again, he had never asked, and they really only talked about each other. And lied. Dirk had lied a lot, too much to be comfortable with. But then again, when was he ever comfortable in this world? "We were pretty close when we were kids, but he's drifted off somewhere. You know the hottie?" She asked with a wink.

"He died of skin cancer three years ago." Dirk said rather bluntly, and watched as Roxy's face fell. Inside, of course, he was in turmoil.

"Oh shoot I," She frowned at the counter. "Sorry for your loss, bud." She said, looking up at him. Even with his shades, even though she had never known him in this life, she could read him like an open book.

Dirk said nothing, instead he finally took a sip from his glass, and felt the liquid burn its way down his throat.

"He's not the only childhood friend who I've lost track of." She said rather wryly, and Dirk suddenly knew was she was going to say, and he mentally braced himself. How was he supposed to handle this, how was he supposed to live a liar or live with people that held the masks of his friends? "His name was Di. I wonder if he's still alive now. Bet he is, he was a peppy kid."

"He'll be out there somewhere." Just like all the other corpses and alternate bodies.

"Mmm, he sure will." She downed her entire glass and, god, she was still such an alcoholic. "Soooo, where did I meet you?"

"It was a long time ago. I don't remember it well." He did remember it clear as day, he dreamt about everything in the past every night. It'd be a lie to say he hadn't died from exhaustion a few times when he refused to go to sleep for weeks on end.

Roxy gave a rich laugh, and then grinned. "I was probably drunk off my ass, then. Want my number? You seem pretty swell." She whipped her phone out from one of her pockets, and stared at the screen. Apparently the entire time it was on vibrate, and she never noticed. Oh my god, Roxy. "Oh, gimme a sec!"

Dirk bet it was Rose.

"Hey Rosie!" 

Never mind, he didn't need money anyway. But Rose...

Rose was an observant girl. If he met her, she'd definitely know there was something wrong. Because jeez, he moped just about every waking second. She'd find out anyway, and he supposed he'd rather that happen on his own terms. 

"Yeah yeah I'm at a club at a bar and there's this cute teen here idunno how he got in!"

"Can I speak to her?" Dirk asked as he gestured at the phone, and Roxy caught the movement. She mouthed 'what', and he pointed at the cell in her hand once more. With a giggle, she handed it over. Giving her phone to strangers. Roxy, Roxy, Roxy.

He turned away from Roxy as he spoke, raising a hand to shield his mouth. "Good evening, Rose Lalonde."

Even over the crackle of reception and through the haze of music around him, her voice was familiar. "I suppose my dear cousin has informed you of my name."

"And, say, if I told you she didn't?"

"I would be concerned."

"How touching." He mused. Would he stand up for Dave's ass like that? Yes, yes he would.

"For your safety, not hers. I will be coming to visit next week, and will be able to personally pay you a visit."

"If I wanted to stalk her, I would've been on her years ago."

There was a pause, and he sensed that she was frowning on the other end of the line. "Dirk Strider?"

He was fairly certain his heart stopped because, holy shit, did Rose remember? "You-" He had to start again. "You remember?"

"I'm not quite sure what you're referring to. If you mean the name, yes, it came as a surge of inspiration." There was a moment of hesitation before she chose to confide in him. "And on occasion I see rather odd visions of faces I've never met." Disappointment crashed over him in waves. 

"Of course." He said blankly to himself, although his voice was likely lost over the music. "Seer, after all."

"I would very much like to meet you, Dirk. I feel as though there are things missing in my mind, and I would like some answers. You appear to know them."

"Her name's Kanaya." He replied, and before Rose could get in another word, he handed the phone back to Roxy, who had already somehow gathered a few more bottles and was watching him expectantly.

Rose Lalonde did not remember. No one did, except him. They all lived different different lives, and it reminded him of when he had first met Dave. He had been so disappointed, because that Dave Strider with the spinning gears was not the Dave Strider with the spinning reels. Eventually, though, Dave had become a good friend, and brother in kind. But this time was different, this time he'd watch them die and he had to live one day knowing they'd be gone. 

In all honesty, it wasn't much different from their time in SBURB. There he lived wondering if their next morning was to be their last. This, however, had a sense of futility.

Except, you know what, fuck it. Fuck them all, if his friends were going to die, he might as well spend every waking moment with them. One look at Roxy's grinning face, and that was what it took him.

He still wished he had Jake back, though.

"Hey Dirka Dirk, what'd you say to my sis?" Roxy asked, already having ended her phone call. "I swear she's never been so excited in her life."

"Some juicy info about hot chicks."

"You srs?" She literally pronounced it "si-riss". Oh my god, Roxy.

"Yeah." He replied a little smugly. He rested his elbows on the counter and edged them away from his body, effectively slumping down. "Me and my hacking, we dig up ladies all the time."

"Ah!" Roxy said, slapping the table, and the sound would've made him jolt if his eardrums weren't already swimming in the blaring music around him. "We met online, didn't we? Never really saw each other. No wonder I didn't really recognise your face."

"Yeah," He lied, turning to face her, eyes hidden behind his shades. "Yeah, we did."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised how good Hal/Dirk would've been for this.  
> But Dave. Daaaaaave. Gotta dedicate, dude.


	2. 1b

Apparently, Roxy had failed to inform Dirk that Rose was also bringing Dave on her visit.

Dirk stood, stared.

His brother had shot up in height (he had been shorter than Dirk on the meteor, now they were eye-to-eye), and was a tall, thin, slice of muscle. He, unsurprisingly, still had a pair of shades perched above his nose. Like all Striders and Lalondes, his features were sharp and distinct, with a rather pointed chin and defined jaw. His hair looked practically silky in the light of Roxy's apartment, but Dirk had yet to see his eyes. The younger Strider felt something blooming up in his chest, and attributed it to pride.

Rose was also delicately carved, with a skirt swirling around her legs; although Dirk never had an eye for females.

Not that he was checking out his brother, holy shit. That'd be disturbing.

God, why were all his friends immaculate works of art? When did this happen? He felt decidedly out of place, being younger and a skinny piece of child. 

It was odd to see them again, alive and whole and unworried. It almost felt like they were impostors. Well, if anything, they were. The Dave he had met on a meteor was gone, the Dave that rolled in dough was gone, the Roxy he had grown up with was dead, and the Rose he had come to confide in was too, rotting away. He felt as though in a dream, a sick play for a perverted audience. 

If all that were true, then Jake had not been the Jake he had grown up loving. He had encouraged this not-Jake during their relationship, gently nudged him into the habits Dirk was so familiar with. Now, it felt like he had been controlling Jake's life.

He shouldn't have told Rose to go looking for Kanaya. He had no right to be messing with the lives of these people who were not actually his friends.

But was Dave his brother? 

"Dirk?" A voice broke him from his reverie, and he looked up to see Dave and Rose watching him. Roxy had gone to toss their luggage somewhere. 

"That would be me." He said quietly, as though voicing it too loudly would break the illusion of the people in front of him.

"This is Dave Strider." Rose introduced as Dave stood impassively, his eyes likely scrutinising behind his shades. Dirk caught a slight twitch of lipstick-coated lips when Rose mentioned Dave's last name, and he had the sneaking suspicion that the insightful Lalonde had kept his surname a secret. "I'm sure you two'll get along." She smirked, and then swept away, her skirt swishing.

He felt suddenly suffocated by the weight of his non-existential human contact for the past few years.

"Dude." Dave began, still openly staring. What the hell, Dave didn't often stare. He didn't often show interest, and when he did, it was either hidden or ironic. This was neither. This wasn't his Dave. "What did you do to my cuz, she was so pumped to meet you and now she's just treating you like no big deal, I mean man, what is up with that? She just deflated like a squished balloon that was sat on after being inflated by your mysterious mysteries-"

"Nice to meet you too, Dave." Dirk cut him off, feeling like an asshole, but he needed to ask. "How much has Rose told you about me?"

"Aw c'mon, don't pull the enigmatic stunt, I can't handle this suspense and the huge amount of information that's being withheld from me. Honestly, I only know your first name, but now I guess I know your face too. I mean, there's just this absolute shit ton of things I don't know while Rose is smirking around like she's got the world under her finger. It's a entire truck load of mystery, it's a  _metric_ shit ton _._ " He pauses to take a breath. When had his rambling gotten so bad? "And what the hell, you've known Roxy for like a week. Dude, a _week,_  and you're already close pals and she's even letting you into her apartment? That's hella nuts, you're not even the same age as her, are you sure you're not a mind-controlling alien? Oh wait, we're already got those out on the streets, haha. Are you secretly a troll?" Dave actually had the nerve to reach for his shades, and Dirk's hand flashed out so quickly Dave never stood a chance.

"The shades stay on, kid."

Dave gave him an indignant look and wiggled his wrist out from Dirk's grip. Dirk let him. "Bro, you're younger than me. Not even by just a year. Don't call me kid, that shit's just rude, man. Weren't you the one telling me I was rude?"

Dirk gave Dave long, flat look until Dave squirmed under his gaze. "It seems you believe that I'm younger. You always were a child that cared about age." He didn't know why the words slipped out, they just did. He wasn't sure he had ever sounded like more of a raging asshole in his life. 

"Dude, always were? _Were?_ " Dave gaped a little, swatting at Dirk's chest. What. This contact was unnecessary. "No wonder Lalonde's having a field day. You're nuts dude, do you see hallucinations like her? Do you see the same nonsensical shit as she does?"

"Dave." Dirk said firmly, "Do you ever listen to clocks? Do you ever stop to hear the tick of time?" The older Strider froze, and Dirk knew he had hit the jackpot.

"Who are you?" The question came out as a whisper, and Dirk found that overly dramatic.

"I'm just one of you." He lied, and tried to gather up his shattered heart as Dave relaxed and accepted his statement without question. Some part of him hoped Dave would've objected, that Dave could've somehow remembered the truth.

"One of us nutbags, great. Another one to add to our collection of Lalondes and an Egbert." Dave smirked, and from the corner of Dirk's eye he saw Rose re-appear in the living room. He made his way over to her, Dave trailing behind. "You know how we first admitted to having the trippy dreams? Lalonde over there pretty much analysed us down to the eyelash, I swear she had a microscope out and was scrutinising my cells. My personal bubble felt invaded with how much she turned me inside out and washed out my honesty."

"Very enlightening, Dave. But now that you've met our guest, I'd like to take him aside for a moment." Dirk wasn't even surprised. He _had_ been expecting a personal interrogation session. 

"You're gonna scar him, dude."

"So be it." She replied cooly, and waved Dave away as though he were an irritable fly. "Roxy is single-handedly unloading everything we've brought, and Dave, I've always taken you for a chivalrous, not selfish, young man."

"You are a scoundrel and a fiend, Rose, you are-"

"Your words deal such damage to my self-esteem. You should be ashamed of resorting to pitifully low blows." Dave opened his mouth, but Rose instantly shot him down. Dirk simply stood, amused, at the Dave beat-up session. "Now, if you'll pardon me, Dave, I, unlike you, have an important matter to be addressing. Roxy shall appreciate your support." She placed a hand of Dirk's shoulder and steered him away with surprising force.

She pushed him into the nearest room and closed the door. "I'll have you know, Dirk S-" She whipped her head around, and he caught a frown on her lips. "Dave, this is nothing of your concern."

Grumbling and foot stomping could be heard from outside. Oh god, why was Dave such a child. 

Seemingly satisfied, Rose turned her attentions back onto Dirk, who had settled himself down onto a bright pink bed. Assumably, this was Roxy's bedroom. The Lalonde took a seat on a squishy and comfortable-looking chair at a desk. "The advice you gave me last week had rather interesting results."

He stared, expressionless. "I apologize."

"Apologize?" She arched a graceful eyebrow and planted a hand on the desk. "Quite the contrary. I am now happy to announce that I officially am in a relationship."

He waited for her to say more, but she did not continue. "I expect you want me to confide with you about everything I know."

"Why else would I have called you into this room, and to speak in private? Why else would you have given such advice and taunted my move? I believe you have already made your choice, Dirk Strider." Her finger had begun tapping on the desk, and its rhythm filled the room. Outside, he could vaguely hear Dave and Roxy wailing away about some inane thing or another. They had probably stumbled upon Rose's wizard porn.

"I don't know." He replied quite honestly.

"And that is what I am here for." She replied softly, hands paused in their movements. "It is quite alright to share pain with friends, Dirk."

"Friends? Is that what we are?" He asked with a snort. "I've spoken to  _you_ one day in my life, Rose Lalonde."

"But in another world, another place, we have met, and I do recognise you so." She stated simply, and he realised just how desperate she was for answers, realised just how much she felt was was missing from her life because, hey, after watching children and trolls skewer themselves, everyday trifles were far too mundane. 

"In that other world, you all died." He paused. "Hence why your memory is so patchy."

She gave him a long, long, stare, and when she finally spoke, her voice was sympathetic. "And I suppose you did not? You seem to know a startlingly large amount."

"No, I didn't."

"I can only imagine. I am so sorry, Dirk."

"It's foolish to be. It's not your fault." He replied a little harshly.

"What were we to you?"

He stood from the bed, had to refrain from glaring down at her. The room felt too bright for the sombre mood they were discussing. "I'm not going to say shit-all about that." He didn't want them to be the other thems, if that made any sense. These were not his friends from the game, he had to remember that. They would die, they would all, all, die, and they would merely be an illusion. "Rose. Kanaya Maryam I can discuss, but your roles in another life will spawn nonsensical obligations towards me." They would feel as though they needed to be his friends, simply because they once had been, in a different world.

"Obligations?" She asked, remaining seated. "Some things we wish to know, Dirk." 

He shook his head, started for the door. "You are not  _her_ , Lalonde. Roxy is not the Roxy I know, and neither Dave my brother." There was no harm in confirming that. Rose practically already knew. "I have no right to direct your lives in the shadow of the friends I used to see."

His hand was on the doorknob when she finally replied, and she spoke to his back. "I am the happiest woman in the world with Kanaya. I do not regret your decision in prompting me, and I do not feel as though you should, either."

"Have you watched your mother bleed out and your brother lie lifeless? Have you seen your friend's crumpled forms and their tears? I do not share this pain, and I do not remake individuals into pale imitations." He hissed the words.

"Very well." He could almost taste her disappointment. She would try again later, she always did until she got what she wanted, and here, she wanted knowledge. She always did. "I shall take heed of your words." 

 --

"Ice cream." Dave.

He didn't even warrant a glance from Dirk. "Learn to deal with the heat, kid." Of course, this Dave hadn't been raised in Texas like the other Dave. Hell, there wasn't even a Texas at all. 

"It's not even the heat, I could turn on the air con if it was hot. I just wanna eat something good." Dave rolled over on the sofa, head by Dirk's lap and legs hanging off the side, over the armrest. Dirk had his eyes fixed on the television. It was going on about some sort of riot in the city centre, something about troll and human relations. Roxy was on the other side of the sofa, and Rose was in the corner of the room, texting away.

Little doubts as to who Rose was messaging.

Dirk swatted at Dave's head, and he swore there was no way Dave could nearly be in his twenties, this guy was a baby. "Ow. Abuse."

"Yeah, kiddo, go complain to your father or whoever. A big sixteen year old is beatin' you up." When his hand came down to swat at Dave's face again, the older Strider caught his wrist and held it captive.

"Gimme a second, let me call my dead dad. Oh woah, I think I got the wrong number. This is the pizza delivery."

"The implications on that are fucked up."

"Dude, I said  _wrong_ number. Your head's taking you weird places." Dirk allowed himself a small smile, and then remembered his hand was still in Dave's hold. The insufferable guy was running his fingers along Dirk's open palm, staring at the numerous calluses. "The hell, I swing swords all the time and my hand doesn't look this bad."

"Dirky's my partner in computer crime." Roxy grinned, and when had she also swung her legs off the couch and leant against his shoulder? Both Roxy and Dave were now resting on some part of Dirk, and he was beginning to feel a little cramped. "And he loves robots. Metal. Metal gives you big manly haaands." She snatched his other hand before he could protest, and planted a big, rather slobbery kiss on the back of it. Oh god, why.

Dave followed her lead, turned his hand over, and landed an equally lavish kiss. "My darling prince, will you finally take my hand in marriage? I have gone unnoticed for years, _years._ " He lamented, "I promise you castles, ponies, pretty pink, and of course, _me_." He placed a hand over his chest, and grinned up at Dirk. 

"Swoon." Dirk commented, entirely deadpan, his body language in complete contrast. 'Prince'.

This Dave was so touchy. They had met for only a week now, and he found it acceptable to lay his head on Dirk's lap? What was he-

He was trailing little kisses along Dirk's fingers and  **no to the fuck to the no.**

He yanked his hand away at light speed, it must've left friction burns on Dave's lips. "Roxy, Rose, save me. Dave's molesting my fingers." 

Roxy flung herself over Dirk, and  _this was not what he meant by help_. He couldn't even see the television anymore, there was an arm draped across his face, damnit. "Daaaaveyboy, grubby paws off!" Dave proceeded to mimic her, and Dirk was fairly certain he was going to choke under the weight of these fatasses. He caught a glimpse of Rose smirking away before soft blonde hair filled his vision. Dave's hair actually smelt really nice, what. Dirk had to find his shampoo sometime. 

"I can't hear or see the news over you two." He stated, voice muffled by Dave's head. 

"Get your priorities straight, Dirk, we're a hell lot more important than the news!" Roxy grinned, and Dave slumped forwards a little and Dirk could see Rose, standing up from her chair and practically swaggering her way towards them, a broad smirk in place.

Rose, his liberation, please. Her smirk grew wider as she approached, and he was suddenly alarmed that she was not going to help him at all.

She daintily sat on top of the pile, pulled out her phone. Roxy and Dave hardly seemed to care.

Dirk resigned himself to his fate.

\--

It was a lonely, miserable day when Dirk fell dead at his computer.

His phone buzzed. Rose was concerned, he failed to turn up to a movie night. (Dave and Roxy had already fallen asleep.)

He had been working on a big project, trying to raise funds for a group house where perhaps they could all live without having to elbow each other every night. Dirk had the tendency to get carried away, lose himself in his work as surely as a man would drown out at sea.

Rose practically kicked his door down.

His body was still cold, slumped over his desk in a dark room with only the flickering of the computer. His kitchen lay untouched, as did every other room in the house. Rose methodically peered inside each and every one, time and time again greeted by only darkness. She turned on the lights in the corridor, and approached his bedroom. It was like opening Pandora's box, digging up a grave, lighting up a cave. The once-Seer-of-Light swung open the door to reveal a forlorn body, and she had to reach for the wall to prevent her legs from buckling. Dirk was still, so deathly still, she knew he was dead.

Until, of course, he stirred and coughed. "Fuck, still hurts like shit every time." His voice was rough as though he had not been using it for months. He stood shakily, and walked right by her on  his way out the room.

Rose said nothing, she trailed in the shadows, watched the man waking from the dead as one might a wake from mere nightmare. 

Dirk was standing still at the kitchen counter, eyes masked by his pair of pointed shades. On inspection, it seemed that his hands were shaking. Rose crossed out into the light without a second thought, wrapping her arms around his form and whispering that it would be okay, he was fine, he was fine. He didn't even seem surprised to see her. 

"How can I be fine if I can't die? How can I be fine if one day you'll leave me all behind?" And when he looked at her she knew he was seeing someone else from another world, someone else she could never live up to be. "I am wrong here, flawed."

"I will not try to be her, Dirk. We are different people, and we are both your friends." She held his chin and he was crying, but he did not cry like normal people did. He did not sob and his shoulders did not shake. The only indicators of his sorrow were the tears that seeped down his cheeks.

"But we grew too close too quickly, and I see the shadows. I see shadows of dead kids and grinning witches and of my _failures_. Every time I look into your eyes _I know._ I _know_  you've died and gone. I'm surrounded by corpses that taunt me my every move. I am a ghost in the world of the living."

"I remember too," She told him, wanted to connect with his pain. "I remember my mother and the darkest of tentacles, I remember our faces-"

And there, in the small kitchen of an apartment a clone of every other room in the building, Dirk Strider broke down. He told Rose Lalonde everything, from the katanas to the sprites, and for a short while, for the brief span of her meagre life, someone would understand just a little. They would not pity, they would understand.

And that was all he needed.

\--

It seemed as though Dave and Rose were considering permanently staying at Roxy's. Dirk, too, had become a rather common guest. 

Today, however, someone new was arriving. John Egbert. 

Oh goody. 

"Daaaaave!" Oh my god, Dirk was not prepared for this onslaught of noise. A squealing ball of  _something_ rushed by, and Dirk felt the breeze rush in with him. There should've been no wind in an apartment this high up with all its windows shut. It seemed, like Rose, John had kept a little something.

"Woah, Egbert, don't get too excited, you've got me for an entire week. A week of nothing but beautiful Strider ass-"

"Rose!" John disappeared out of Dave's arms as quickly as he came. Like the wind, Dirk thought rather wistfully. Slips and slides, breezes and breathes, it comes and goes as it pleases; in an instant.

"John." She stood rather impassively as he threw his arms around her, and then he turned to Roxy, who returned the embrace.

He finally stopped to look Dirk up and down, a grin still present on his face. "Dirk!" He said, still beaming, and Dirk was enveloped in a rather awkward hug. This guy was nearly twenty, and he gave everybody hugs. What the fuckin' fuck. He didn't even know Dirk.

Seeing Egbert older was so surreal. He still had the hair that went up in every direction, and a pair of taped glasses. His teeth still bore that trademark buck-toothed grin, but seeing him aged was like a dream where everything went wrong. 

He looked a fuckton like Jake.

"We're taking you out for lunch, John. This nice place down the street." Dave drawled, and sometimes Dirk wondered if Dave was crushing on the dorky, black-haired Egbert.

He found that, for some reason, he cared.

"My bag's still filled with everything! I, uh, couldn't fit it all into my suitcase, so I threw a few things into my day pack, I guess." He said with an apologetic grin.

Why should Dirk care about who Dave crushed on? Brotherly protection? Dave was  _older,_ for god's sake. John was a good boy.

"Yeah, just leave your bag here, we'll deal with it later. Need anything from it?"

He still found himself disliking the prospect of Dave and John.

"My wallet and other stuff? They're probably buried pretty deep..." John said, gnawing on his lips with his overgrown teeth. 

"We'll pay, and don't worry about your condom stash." Dave's face broke into a broad smirk, and John flushed red to the tips of his ears as he spluttered. 

\--

The restaurant was surprisingly cosy, and Dirk quietly noted that the only other people in the restaurant were trolls. Even the waiters were trolls. Roxy and Dave assured him it was fine, they came here a few months ago, there had been an array of humans and trolls back then, the patrons were kind.

They did not seem to be.

Dirk caught hostile glares more often than once, and he had the nagging suspicion that this entire ordeal was a very, very, poor idea. 

"Rox." He sidled up to the Lalonde, who was grinning widely in anticipation for what she thought would be a good meal. "I don't like this place. I think we should leave."

"Hey, hold that complaint there, boy." She replied, her smile not faltering (normally she'd have to look up to meet him eye-to-eye, but she was wearing these ludicrous heels). "You don't want to be encouraging bad human-troll relations."

"We have weapons strapped to our backs, Roxy."

"Eeeeverybody does." She dismissed him with a wave of the hand, and settled down into a nice, sheltered booth. In fact, it seemed to hide them from most of the glares around the restaurant, and for that, Dirk was glad. 

The food was surprisingly decent, although, judging by Dave and Roxy's complaints, it wasn't up to its usual standard. Dirk had to point out the obvious.

"We're humans in a troll's diner." He stated quietly and flatly, but it still caught everybody's attention. The raincloud had been hanging above their heads for a while now.

"No one will dare outright attack us." Rose replied, calmly stabbing a piece of meat with her fork. "If the atmosphere bothers you, we'll simply head elsewhere next time."

"In all honesty, I'm surprised they even have human food on the meal." He said, leaning in to lower the level of their conversation to a hush. 

"They don't want to be _that_  obviously derogatory." She continued, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. 

"How the hell'd things get so bad, anyway?" Dave asked, shuffling closer to join them in their private conversation.

"Discrimination, the obvious human disadvantage in a one-on-one battle, riots," Rose furrowed her brows. "It is a pity, really."

John began coughing, and Dave's attention immediately switched to the buck-toothed boy. (Dirk can't stop thinking of John as a boy, not man.)

"Well, you'd have experience with trolls, eh, Rosie?" Roxy gave a big wink and obviously mouthed, 'Kanaya'.

"I do know them better than most." She admitted. "They, like us, are mostly a good people."

John's coughing intensified, and they all began looking at him in concern, Dave rubbing the black-haired boy's back. 

"John, ease up, you're a bit too eager on the food there." Dave said, eyebrows knitted.

John couldn't seem to reply, his breathing shallow and rapid, and he was making this noise from his nose and Dirk leapt to his feet, asked: "Are you choking?"

He received a mess of nods and shakes in reply, but Dave was already trying the Heimlich Maneuver but _it wasn't working what the fuck._ Rose noticed the swelling around his lips first, and she pointed out with rising panic that this was some anaphylactic reaction.

In other words, someone must've left a fucking peanut in John's food.  

The world stopped. John's body froze. Some part of Dirk's mind told him:

Egbert dies tonight.

He can't die, no, not for a second time, Dirk wouldn't allow this _fuck the world_ -

"Epinephrine! Please, would anybody have epinephrine?" Rose leapt to her feet and this was practically her way of bawling her eyes out.

"An EpiPen! She means a fucking EpiPen!" Dirk shouted at the restaurant, and trolls gave them disinterested looks before turning away. He wanted to punch them in the gut, string up their intestines from the restaurant windows and spell "murderers" with their blood.

"Just another dead man." One of them muttered.

Dim lanterns filled the restaurant, and in that light, trolls stood by as humans screamed in their ears. Trolls sat resolutely as humans threw dignity to the wind and begged.

Rose was practically trembling. Dirk knew she was thinking of Kanaya.

Dave lay John down, cursing over and over about "leaving the damn bag at home and breathe John, breathe!" Dirk was shaking a rather disgruntled waiter, who calmly informed him that there were no adrenaline shots nearby. Roxy was on 111.

John fell unconscious.

Dave was crying. Whether John had been his crush or not seemed foolishly distant.

He wouldn't wake up. He would never.  It was a fucking stupid way to die, it was stupidly abrupt, Dirk knew that.

It didn't make it any easier.

Dirk Strider watched John Egbert die for a second time.


	3. 1c

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready for OOC Dirk angst?  
> Ready for OOC Dirk angst.

The small, private funeral was the final straw for Dirk.

The four of them stood there, in the most pristine garden he had ever seen, swathed in black and he felt that they were a mockery of the original beta four and that, like Jake, John's  _real_ friends would never be there. It was a mockery, a depravity, a scene that spat in the face of fate and all that Dirk had remembered.

He should not have cared. To him, John Egbert should've been a stranger who he had just met. If Rose hadn't known the truth about him, they would never have even invited him to the funeral. Dirk should not have known this dead man, but he felt the impact of his death anyway, it was a chord within him that was plucked and he felt the deep shattering loss of losing a friend not for the first time.

But this time he wouldn't be coming back.

Something as meagre and fucking stupid as a few peanuts, it was ridiculous, it was by no means heroic like the movies John oh-so-loved.

"...Will miss you, John." Dave beside him finished. All but Rose, they treated him like a stranger, because  _Dirk Strider should not have known John Egbert._

Dave had taken his shades off. Dirk had not; for if anybody looked too closely at his eyes they would see a broken man. Dave gave Dirk a flat look, judging, reprimanding that Dirk could not even reveal his sincerity. He couldn't, he couldn't look at John's body but when he did, suddenly there was Dave instead, a sword through his chest, there was Jake and Jane, skewered, and there was blood, blood everywhere and  _all his friends would die and he would have to watch every single time with no one by his side-_

"Pardon me for a moment." He choked out, looked away, and suddenly Rose was there, whispering comforts but _he couldn't take this_. Dave would still be judging, assuming Dirk was a weak man that could not even look at the dead; Roxy would simply accept, and question later. He could feel Dave's scrutiny, he knew Dave would never, never, know. Not in this lifetime. He would never understand the loss. Beta Dave knew, beta Dave had lost his brother alongside Dirk and they had sometimes revealed their hurt to each other but  _this_ Dave would never comprehend.

"I can't." Dirk gasped, and clutched onto Rose like a lifeline. He ripped his sunglasses from his eyes and threw them to the floor, watched them fall but not shatter, and turned the full force of amber upon Lalonde so she could see how deep he was under the water and how he was drowning and dying in such a twisted world. "I can't I can't I can't." He repeated the words over and over again as though it would make John rise out of the coffin with a mere kiss, that it would make Roxy squeal and joke about DiStri and the ocean and the drones. "Fuck, John, he never even knew that we all revered him. For all his bubbly nature and gullibility _he was still our leader,_ and to triumph did he lead! But look here, midst the wreckage of a world, cast away like a can on an empty road, a crumpled body with an empty mind, and nothing but mask for a face!  _Rose!_ I cannot live with these  _ghosts_!" He turned to look at Dave, meet the red eyes that he had lost once and once again.

"I didn't know your hallucinations were _this_  bad, dude." Dave said, raising a slight eyebrow. Roxy merely watched the entire scene unfold with sober, sombre, eyes. 

"Hallucinations?  _Hallucinations?!_ " Rose did not even try stop him launching himself at Dave, pounding on Dave's chest with clenched fists and gritted teeth. "Dave Strider, do I  _wish_ they were only wisps of memory. No! I will live while my friends die around me, I will live while they grow old and _I will live_ while they fall at my feet and I will live, I will  _live,_ my wretched heart will keep beating  _every day,_ and in this endless cycle I will see your faces that haunt me through pain and pleasure, through loss and gain, through fire and water -  _your ghosts have emptied me_  - carved me out as surely as a hollow statue! The game has taken everythingfrom me, even the future I was promised, the future we were _all_ promised!" He raised his head to meet Dave's eyes, and for a brief moment he was shocked at how close they were, the every detail of his not-brother, and the fact that he had seen this face so many times but it had never looked so stunned or confused. "Dirk  _Strider_ can bear no more." He finally snarled, and walked away to scoop up his shades, his temper immediately fading. He had not made such an outburst in a while. 

"Our friendship was good while it lasted, Dirk." Roxy said, and when he looked at her, her lips were pressed in a tight, thin, line. Dirk only managed a nod in return.

"Today, I have lost more than one friend." Rose stated as he passed her. "I hope you've considered this carefully, Dirk. You may not be able to return."

"That's fine." Dirk replied curtly, pausing in his departure. "I understand that at this point, your opinion about me has changed and I cannot return as a friend." His words were more directed at Dave, but he was still addressing Rose, although they were back-to-back. For a moment, it looked as though she wanted to speak, but she resisted the urge. "And please, pass on my respects to John, but I must take my leave." He took on a rather wry smile, and said to her, "And I don't think you lost me _today_. I was lost from the start."

At that point, Dave broke from his stupor and took a step towards the leaving Dirk, outstretching a hand as though it would stop his long-missing brother from vanishing from his life for a second time. "Bro?" His voice was small, confused. Roxy stood and watched. She and Rose would have to comfort Dave later, although she wasn't sure if she were quite up for comforting.

"Your brother is dead." Dirk said simply. 

"No, no, you aren-"

"I am not your brother. Take heed of your Prince's words, Knight of Time."

Rose began laughing, or were those sobs racking her body? When she looked up, Roxy saw that her eyes were gleaming and wet.

"Knowledge." She said simply. "I know," Then she started to _actually_ laugh and more tears trickled from her eyes, "I can See, Dirk! I can see your future and I will do nothing to stop it because unlike you, I can die and I can burn!"

No one was up for comforting, it seemed. Rose appeared to have spiralled into insanity.

Dirk left knowing he would never speak to that Dave Strider again.

\--

In the following month, Dirk learnt that drug overdose was apparently neither heroic or just.

Days passed in a haze, and all he saw was the darkness. He stumbled through life like an old man along a beaten, boiling road, baking in the heat of a desert. He watched the cars pass by, dust trailing behind them in clouds and they would break, sometimes he'd come to wreckages and feed on their twisted corpses and watch the vultures flood the sky. The sun never went down, and he, the ragged man, would drag his feet along the sand for years and years to come because the road's end was its start and history repeated itself. 

He had passed out from exhaustion, verging death, when a dream bubble drifted by. 

A city loomed around him, its spires stretching skywards, but the streets were empty. Not a piece of litter, the world was silent. Windows coated building surfaces, no doors to be seen, and he realised they were not windows at all, but mirrors. He saw himself in his shorts and shades, haggard and dying.

"The world burns." Dave, his older brother, alpha Dave, suddenly standing at the end of the street, yet his voice carried so clearly. It swirled around him, reached for his ears in a far less futile attempt than he reached for death. Dave's sword hung from his back, and he was a formidable figure, one that Dirk could never live to be. "Do you with it?"

"I live as mere ashes."

"From which a phoenix is born."

Dirk barked a laugh, and it echoed hollowly around the street. "I am no bird, that'd be you, Dave."

"Dirk."

The windows reflected all the light from the sun, and he could not see through them for the light-

"Dirk, you have made a mistake. You must go back to the ones with our names." That was not Dave's voice. It was Rose.

"Dirky?" Roxy. "He's here? Shittt, why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Is he dead yet?" Jane. "Or just dreaming?"

Murmured words from Jake. 

"We're never coming back, just accept it, Dirk!" Jade. She sounded more joyful than she should've been. "Dying isn't  _that_ bad when you have all your friends."

A laugh.  _John_.

"Dirk." A younger Dave. 

Their words mixed together and they spoke over one another and he couldn't follow anything that they were saying. Where were their voices coming from? 

A cloud obscured the sun overhead and there they were, behind the windows and

They were in every building and he could recognise each of their faces but each time there was some variation, there were thousands of them, behind every mirror, behind every shadow, they were always watching, they were always the same, they were always his friends, they  _were always dead._

"That one's called Rox, and that one Rocky, and that one Roxanne, and there's a  _ton_ of names!" Roxy's voice yelled, and his seven friends were above him, flying around all in god tier, even John. The ones in the windows weren't them. They were sixteen, the age of their deaths. They weren't verging twenty, they weren't wearing shorts and shirts and playing video games, they were _dead gods_.

"Yeah oh my gosh the one with my actual name died from peanuts, that is sooo lame." 

"It was hilarious. Egbert, admit it."

"I think my heart fell out of my butt in embarrassment."

"It's really weird seeing ourselves old. It's like in Gattaca, y'know, how the Gerome guy basically had a clone who was actually another guy looking like him? Okay that's a really bad analogy, because these people here keep parts of our souls and aren't completely different. It's like cookies all made from the same batter. Yeah. All Dave's are made from the same delicious Strider batter and while I'm the pure, whole, undiluted delicious Dave those are like Dave crumbs, injected into standard human batter. Damn I'd be tasty."

"Dave, no. Nothing about baking. Never again."

"Our fundamentals remain the same. But as expected of all humans, their upbringing will mold their character somewhat."

"If that was true, then why are they all in these buildings like it's a giant display cabinet?"

"I believe our guardians decided to put them there for a while. Their reasons are their own. They were aware Dirk was visiting."

"Hello, old chap!" Jake grinned down at him, and Dirk couldn't help but beam back.

"Don't miss us too much!" 

Dirk woke with a start, stumbled out of his chair into the wreckage that was his apartment. Chairs lay overturned and the kitchen dusty because he had starved several times. His clothing was rumpled and filthy, and he couldn't care less. Bottles of alcohol and medications lay open and haphazardly tossed around. Blood stained the floor.

The streets were their usual assault of sounds, streetlights flashing in his eyes in attempt to blind him. He knew where Roxy lived. He had to go apologize to her, apologize to Rose, give Dave back his brother. His mind was dulled by death and his eyes indistinct by the images of dreams flashing in his head. As he stumbled past with mist before his eyes, the ground seemed to tremble beneath him for the effort it took to stand. He was aware that he was skin and bones, he was aware that he probably looked akin to a dead man.

He didn't care, but the others that lurked on the streets seemed to.

The first punch already sent blood flying from his lips, and Dirk went down like a sack of rocks. Trolls towered around around him, lips curled in grins. He couldn't defend himself, he lay there taking beatings without lifting a hand because he was so weak, so starved, and he hadn't even taken his katana. He thought his rib might've snapped, maybe he'd get the easy out of a punctured lung and death. But no, they knew better to kill him.

"Fuck up the fuckin' runt!"

"This is our land!"

"Get away from him, troll bastards." The last voice was deeper, human, and soon a chorus joined him.

"Fuck off, trolls."

"No right to be touching your superior humans."

Blood, of every shade and hue, and Dirk could only see dead men and more death to come. His head was swimming with pain and swimming in a world that had long ago drowned; he was a god, beaten into submission; he was a prisoner, tortured by his own thoughts; he was a human living on the dregs of society; he was a _human_ , the last of his kind in a crumbling world; his head was haphazardly sown on by stitches; he was kissing Jake-

Oh, that man was a piece of work! Truly, fine in nature, infinite in cruelty, and depraved in that its _worst_ fear and darkest nights were induced by only itself!

Made for destruction, they were. What god could rule with his mind in torment?

Dirk was truly tumbling into, through, and beyond the realm of twisted hands and bright eyes. (Madness, he whispered to himself. This is insanity that I see.) 

Shouts and blaring and screaming, they were fighting and what had begun? He could almost see time ticking away before his eyes and he knew what was unfolding would change the world. A troll was slammed into a wall, a buzzsaw shoved up to his throat and green spurted to paint the walls and paint the men and paint the trolls and they were all going to die, because nothing ever escaped time.

Dirk's body was a broken vessel, his heart even more so. The streets weren't dark anymore and streetlights still flickered and he left the fighting behind to stumble onwards across endless roads. He heard a roaring flame, a roaring inferno, that reached his ears and caressed them with whispers of embers.

Roxy's apartment was just down the street. Rose and Dave would be returning overseas in a week (he had remembered that (he always remembered them)), and he'd be able to speak to them, meet them again.

It was bright, like the sun, (like a green sun, in which throbbed a poison that he would surely drink and surely succumb to). Blue and red lights danced across the streets and the sirens and alarms were so loud, (people would be sleeping at this time, why were they so noisy?). Water ran in erratic streams and there was shooting and shouting and more screaming and he thought he had left the fighting behind but here there were more trolls wrestling with men in bright uniforms.

"Roxy!" His voice was so weak against the monster that was the flames. "Roxy! Dave! Rose! _"_ Somebody with grey skin elbowed him aside and he did not fight back and let himself fall to the street and let the concrete skin his knees that were already bloody. 

It was a bonfire that twisted up to greet the night skies and the stars; it was a furnace, and its light danced to the other buildings and it reflected off their windows and he thought about thousands of bodies lined up behind mirrors, hidden by the light.

" _Dave_!" His cry was unheard behind the loud roar of the revolution of time, the wheel that spun and stopped for nobody but Dave.

_Nothing ever escaped time._

The apartment complex burnt down before his eyes. 

_"You may not be able to return."_

The next day when he lay in a crumpled heap on his sofa, the lady on the television solemnly announced that there were no survivors above the fifth floor.

_"I can See, Dirk! I can see your future and I will do nothing to stop it because unlike you, I can die and I can burn!"_

 


	4. 2a

Dirk pretended nothing had changed, that it was all the same after the game, that his friends were finally dead and they wouldn't be coming back and now he was free from their ghosts.

The thought was not as comforting as it should've been.

After a week of complete and utter despair, he forced himself to become a "normal human" and "normal citizen" once more. It actually wasn't that unpleasant, merely boring. He tidied his apartment, worked on robotics orders, ate shitty takeouts, picked up his katana once more, and tried to attend more social outings.

Which was precisely why he was standing in the city square as the human minister announced humans and trolls were going to form separate councils. Their relationship had degraded to the point where every discussion erupted into argument. The human council, for now, had allowed the entire apartment complex burning incident (it'd been two months now) to slide. The trolls claimed that it had been the work of choice individuals, and was not an accurate representation of the rest of their population's relationship with humans.

Hahahaha, yeah right. Dirk could almost taste bitter smoke and flames of war looming on the horizon. Give a half a decade, and shit'd finally break loose.

Dirk decided that, for now, it was none of his business. What was he supposed to do, anyway? He was no diplomat, they probably end up spearing him through the chest with a trident, and perhaps it'd be considered a heroic death.

Actually, that made an attempt at diplomacy sound far more inviting.

He shrugged off the thought and made to scatter as the announcement ended. He had nowhere to go; nowhere down the road, and nowhere in the future. He walked the streets, watched the bodies shuffle by, and marvelled at the world. He supposed SBURB still lingered in the air, within the mechanics of the mortal plane, because his immortality violated every conceivable rule of the mundane. Likewise, Rose had still kept a little of her Seer abilities, while John had passively, perhaps unknowingly (he never did get the chance to ask), carried the wind on his shoulders. Dave, too, had felt the tick of time in his veins. 

It was a pity, truly, and he would never forget them.

\--

Thirty years passed in the blink of an eye.

 

 

 

 

 

The seasons turned, and his hair did not grey alongside the men that walked everyday across the road to their homes.

 

 

 

Dirk was still a sixteen year old child, nothing had changed. Troll and humans were still sparking against one another, and recently a troll group had killed over a hundred humans in random, scattered incidents. Things were bound to spill over soon. Juveniles of both species enjoyed ravaging the streets at night.

 

 

Life was a descent into insanity. Day after day, the same surroundings, the same people down the same streets, the same thoughts in his dying head -  the world spun on without him. 

 

Dirk wound up in front of a stadium, one that he regularly visited. It was usually empty, and for some reason he relished in the hollow cavern and darkness. Today, however, he found that apparently there was a concert just ending. He normally didn't attend them, but he'd only have to sit there and look polite for a few minutes. He had money to burn, and he needed an escape from the shitty raps and mixes now and then, so why the hell not?

The chamber was grand, raised chairs lining the walls, and in the centre of the podium under a blinding light stood a single grand piano. Dirk took his time to admire it, all black curves and shining surfaces, delicate keys and not a single scratch to be seen. 

But when his eyes found the pianist, his breath was lost in his throat. Buck teeth, wild hair, blazingly blue eyes, there was no mistaking it.

Dirk's only thought was really: What in the fucking fuck _fuck_?

Life was goddamn surreal. In moments like these when the world came crashing down, he always felt oddly detached.

He hardly heard the quiet, somber tune and the harmonies that the piano wove; his eyes were fixed on the pianist and the pianist only. In the few minutes the concert ended, and he had a moment to appreciate how he had walked in at practically the last second. The coincidences on this were unreal, but then again, it had been thirty years of quiet. He should've known; life would never leave him alone, and death would never greet. 

The listeners filed out, but Dirk remained seated. The performer was standing and watching the people leave. Soon, he turned and worked to close the piano lid. The thing was heavy, and the performer short. 

The chance was so ripe it would've been a sin not to take it.

Dirk's silent footsteps down the stairs to the podium rung loudly in his ears (and no one else's, for to the mundane ear he was quiet as a shadow). He should've left, last time when he went along with Roxy he hurt them all and they had died and hurt him too. He didn't know why he crossed the podium to stand behind the not-John, who was still slowly lowering the piano lid.

He leaned down, let his lips linger near the boy's ear, and he whispered. "Hello, John."

The piano lid was dropped with a yelp and it slammed and the echo was so hollow. The indignant boy spun around. "My name is Jonathan." He said, with a hint of a pout. Up close, Dirk could see even more the resemblance to John. It sent a pang through his chest knowing that the boy swathed in blazing blue with a wind sock on his head was gone forever.

"That was a nice piece." Dirk murmured. "Was it Moonlight Sonata?"

The not-John snorted. "Oh my god I can't believe you actually thought that. Moonlight Sonata is so overrated."

"It's popular for a reason."

"It's really easy." Jonathan quipped, glaring at Dirk. "And what do you want?"

John had never been that hostile. Dirk stared back, unreadable behind his shades. "I wanted to talk to you, is that a crime now?"

The pianist rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "Well, no, I guess. Bluh. Sorry for being rude but I'm, I'm tired, alright? I just want to go home and crash." 

"Fair enough." Dirk said, leaning against the piano but making no move to leave. In all honestly, he had no idea what he was doing either, mostly stalling. Because what, who was this John look-alike? "I just want to ask some questions, because you look a mighty hell like a guy I lost track of a long time ago."

"I think I'd remember being friends with somebody like you." Jonathan frowned, poking at Dirk's shades. "But okay. Ask away!" Of course Joh- no, Jonathan, would say yes. John would've never disagreed.

"Do you hate baking?"

"Yep!"

"Do you love Nic Cage?" This was so awkward.

"He's the light of my life!"

"That name that everyone calls you," At this point Jonathan too was leaning on the piano and edging closer to Dirk to hear clearly. "The word that slips from their lips, that they call to you, that they label you," Dirk leant down, murmured his words, "Do you ever hear the wind whisper the ways of the world? Do you ever feel wrong and confined in your skin,  _John_?"

Jonathan's expression was sombre. He stood straight and looked Dirk up and down. He gathered about himself a professional air, with a stiff back and sharp eyes. (John, in the meantime, had always had a bit of a relaxed stance to the world). 

"I met a woman one day, on the far ends of the world, and she called me John." Rose. There was no way it wasn't Rose, or whatever she was now called. 

"I ran away from her." Fuck. This was probably a mistake.

"With her nearby I would dream of darkness." Dirk should leave.

"She kept asking and asking and she dug up the nightmares." Dirk was a puppet to fate; he had played right into the world's hands.

"With what you've been asking, you'll probably do the same." He shouldn't have done this. 

"I apologise." Dirk said rather stiffly.

Jonathan gave a wry smile. "I'm not this John guy. I might sometimes feel the breeze speak, but I'm not a god."

"I see." Dirk said, and the flicker of hope that had ignited when he first saw Jonathan turned black and began to burn his soul. His friends would die for the third time. Their powers faded with every resurrection, and they'd become just another face on the street. "I understand."

"Rosaline was trying to dig up the past."

"Rose always wanted to know things." He didn't know why he had implied the truth. Jonathan had just made it blatantly clear he wanted nothing to do with the reincarnation business.

"Soooo, you also looking for the knowledge?"

"I don't need to."

The pianist frowned, absentmindedly tugging at his own sleeve. "Huh?"

"I don't know what I'm doing, stumbling through this life." It was a bitter and wry smile that twisted his lips. 

"Well, I don't, either." The boy gave him a bit of a sheepish grin. "You might want to ask Rosaline that! She's really knowledgable. If you think life's boring, help other people!" Jonathan beamed. "If the world doesn't spin with you, latch onto it! Make yourself fit in!"

"It's been thirty years, to no avail."

"Thirty?" Jonathan half-yelped, glancing over Dirk's form yet again. "What? You don't look thirty!" The door to the auditorium slammed, and a cleaner wearily shuffled in. "Huh?" 

"When you don't age and you don't fall ill, it would be pretty difficult to look old." Dirk continued, and the cleaner's vacuum started up. It was like a tornado, viciously sucking up trash with a ravenous mouth.

"Wait, what?" Jonathan mouthed, voice unheard over the background VRRROOOOOM. 

_It was a mistake, but he just couldn't stop coming back._

Dirk gave his usual tiniest of tiny smiles. "Fare well with the rest of your life, Jonathan."

"Huh, not giving me a number or anything?" Dirk shook his head. "Well, if you're confused you should go visit Rosaline!" Jonathan shouted at him as Dirk made his way away, scaling the steps two at a time. "She's a pretty famous author!"

"Will do." He said hesitantly, and watched Jonathan's face light up.

He left knowing he would never see that John Egbert again. 

\--

The city was a sculpture of grey and orange and yellow and Dirk thought it was the perfect colour scheme for trolls in their snarling glory. For a moment, too, he thought about Dave and how the boy would've wanted to capture the spitting image of what seemed to be a world that spanned horizons.

A young girl, a troll with oddly familiar horns, who would've been hardly ten, walked into the park alone. He's seen her before, but only in the daylight hours. She must've been insane, but no more than he. Her dress was a wraith. Her sickly pale skin and bony hands seemed hardly substantial, and she drifted across the path as though a ghost.

The trees were outcasts, pale lanky forms that rose from the earth so differently from the stone and glass around them. The grass seemed deathly, and the child who scuffed her shoes across the path looked nothing near joyful. The park was empty save them two, for everybody was busy working and working for their every last penny. The only bright colours were the flowers that bloomed in desperation, almost obscured and drowned by the blades of grass.

The world was bleak.

Dirk could not make a difference to it.

For all the times he had sat here, in a sad old bench long worn by the elements, he felt that every day held only a single snapshot of the city. It captured as little as a single photograph would a man's life. Apartments ablaze, lights bright in the nights, the crying of homeless, sombre piano that whirled in his ears, and now a child with no one by her side.

He thought she was going to do the cliche thing and sit on the swing. She didn't. It was probably so rusted it'd destroy their ears with screeches, anyway. 

C'mon. He had to be the good guy. It didn't matter that she was a troll, she was a still just a child. "Hey kid, sun's setting. You shouldn't stay here after dark."

Her voice was quiet and subdued and a little scratchy, as though used hoarse. Her pale little face was framed by unruly black hair, and two nonidentical horns arched up from her head. "You'll protect me."

"What makes you think that? Why would you even rely on a strange shade-wearing katana-wielding man like me?" He had indeed taken his katana. He wasn't too keen on being beaten up on the streets again.

"That you spoke up at all proves it. You care for children. A good man."

He had nothing to say in reply to that, and watched as she bent to pluck the flowers that sprouted from the earth, their heads held high. Her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, and jade eyes focused. She kept a number of metres away from him, because they both knew equally well that despite her words, they did not trust one another.

"Making a daisy chain, kid?"

"These are for my lusus."

Was it dead? The child gave no indication. "I apologise for manipulating your conscience." She said. "But I would be lying if I said I would never do it again."

"Is that how you live? In the generous' homes?" 

She straightened, looked at him, a perfect dandelion daintily held between her fingers. "Yes." She replied rather shortly. "Once my childhood is over, I suppose I will join a rioting, rebellious, robbing troll group out on the streets."

"Didn't know you guys hated them as much as we do."

"They have a choice of lifestyle." She was so blunt, he admired her somewhat for it. The girl returned to picking her flowers. "I do not. They took that right from me."

"It's a broken society. We hate each other and we hate ourselves." Dirk mused, and he swore her lips quirked into a small smile. Why was he discussing these things with a ten year old?

"As is the way it always is. We can't stand no more, midst the crooked men and lying whores."

She was ten. Give or take. She was singing softly.

"Day by day, we waste away,"

She was fuckin' ten. This was the song she sung while turning bright flower heads between her fingers. 

"Down icy streets, bones 'neath our feet,"

Fuck, flowers she was picking for her likely dead biological caretaker. 

"The world keeps spinning, I've been left behind! Ain't no winning, not the game of time." Finally she turned to face him again, and this time the smile adorning her face was bitter. "It sounds odd for me to say "ain't", no?"

"It sounds like something _I'd_ sing. Or rap."

"Well. Appearances are certainly deceiving, with both you and I."

"What, are you actually planning on following me home?" He asked, tilted his head downwards to peer at her over his shades. 

She snorted. "I rely on _your_ company for appearance's sake only. I am capable of fending for my own, but I prefer not to. Bloodshed is unnecessary. As for where I currently reside, a rather kind troll has already taken me in. I trust her."

Dirk tried not to visibly relax. It would've been difficult to say no if she'd made the request. "How long you staying here?"

"Until I scavenge what I require. One more should do." She said, "Although it would be appreciated if you joined me for a walk afterwards."

She was definitely going to take him to her lusus' memorial.

He was totally cool with that. He'd still definitely be able to get away if she jumped him; he'd been spending hours around and about sparring with trolls and his own creations. 

"Come." She called. "It is not far."

It was the other end of the park, just within the tree line. Of course it would be, there were no other spots of grass on the bloody continent. He had never noticed the small patch of brightly coloured, delicately arranged flowers that circled around the base of what was probably the largest tree in the city. 

She smiled, approached the ring of colour, and Dirk felt like he was intruding. He stood, watched her kneel before the memorial, and then swept his eyes over the rest of the park. A group of older trolls had approached and their rancorous laughing drifted over to him. If anyone else had ever seen that tree of the little troll girl, they would've simply dismissed the flowers and carried on their lives. No one would ever know what it meant, no one would ever know her sorrow and no one would ever know how many nights she spent in stranger's homes.

He wanted to throw up.

The group of trolls were closer now, and he had the nagging suspicion that they weren't completely sober. Fuck. Some of them were swinging claws and double-sided daggers, grinning widely, and Dirk figured he should leave. Quickly. Where was the troll girl? She was still at the tree, but she too had caught wind of the impending disaster, and stood quickly.

There was a dark figure in the trees behind her.

Dirk moved faster than he thought possible, snatching her up by the waist and cursing as an axe swung past and imbedded into the giant tree surrounded by frail little flowers.

"Fuck off, man. Can't you see it's a kid?" He snarled, spinning to face the attacker and clutching her to his side as he drew his katana. He needed to leave, they needed to leave, the group of trolls would be approaching and they were probably drunk out of their minds and looking for a good few humans to pick bones with.

"A kid can gouge your eyes out." Came a low growl, and a heavy man emerged from the shadows, deep black bags under his eye and socket. His hair was unkept and wild. "One o' her lil' mates took mine after she couldn't pay me. This is fuckin' justice. Step outta the way, lil' tween."

"And what, you're 'just' going to take out an eye with your entire giant damn axe? Go fuck yourself." Dirk spat, and the troll girl had slipped out of his arms and began tugging his sleeve. He heeded her insistence and started backing away, keeping a wary eye on the big man.

"This ain't your business, lil' boy. Bugger off."

Dirk absconded, leaping over roots and out into the park and he had to haul ass outta there. The jade-eyed troll girl was by his side, and he heard shouts and more laughter from the group of trolls who were now _very close he could see their eyes._

"C'mon game! Let's play!" The blue-eyed one near the front cackled, and the others sniggered alongside her.

Well, they were fucked. Dirk held his katana before him, glanced at where the mad axeman was barrelling out from the trees, urged the troll girl back with a hand, and was totally ready to rumble.

There were give or take five trolls. Most of them broke off to deal with the guy wildly swinging his axe, and one or two converged to Dirk, and hell if he wasn't grateful for every single strife he had in the last thirty years.

Steel on steel, and the other also had a damn whip. It managed to catch him on his left, right, legs, and ow. He leaned back to avoid a knife to the face, flashstepped, and skewered Mrs Whip. This was too easy! He was about to laugh, fuelled by the adrenaline, when a blow to the back of his head sent him reeling. 

It seemed they had already dealt with nuts mcNuts axe dude and had gotten behind him somehow. There were too many of them, way too bloody many.

Another hit across his head and  _fuck._ Spots danced in his vision and someone landed a kick to his legs and he stumbled. God damn, damn, why didn't he bolt when he still had the chance. The hits became relentless, he heard the little troll girl yelling, and he was pretty sure his back resembled a chopping board. Blood filled his mouth. He flashstepped, straight into another troll and dug his katana backwards and a gurgle told him he'd hit his target.

He gutted another, attention already shifting to his next opponent before he could even watch the entrails spill onto the grass. 

Something warm suddenly barrelled into his back and pain shot through his abdomen and he went down  _hard_ , it was a dead weight, and when he nudged it aside and it rolled he realised it was a body. His head pounded with the mere action of pushing it. 

Mother of god. He hadn't been the one that killed this guy. His neck was well and truly split open, and it was a deep purple sea that flowed from the wounds across his body.

The jade-eyed little troll had ten small buzzsaws whirling away on her fingers. Where had she hidden those? They spun on small metal caps that sat atop her fingers, and a wire stretched down her arm. It seemed that not long ago those fingers were only picking flowers. There was, unsurprisingly, no one left standing except her, and she surveyed the scene with tight lips. He couldn't seem to sit up, he felt like he was pinned to the ground.

He looked down.

There was a blade through his stomach. Oh. It was going to be a heroic death. Its hilt stood crooked, like a cross that had been ravaged and knocked askew.

He had promised to visit Rosaline.

He wasn't going to die yet. Couldn't. He had...

Nothing but a _feeling_ that the world wanted him to continue. A duty to live on through the flames and the hell that was the aftermath of the game.

"Hey." He said to the little girl. His lips felt like cotton. "Kill me." 

She stared. The pain was starting to sink in, his body was on fire, and please, girl, don't question it just-

Ten spinning sawblades were shoved into his head and in an instant, he was gone.

\--

When he came to, it was sunrise, the bodies were gone, and the jade-eyed troll was talking quietly with another troll, someone older. His body felt raw, as resurrections always did. He quietly grunted and stretched, sat up.

"It seems as though our sleeper has awoken." The troll child said, with a bit of a smile.

"I'm surprised you stayed." Dirk said, eyeing the other figure who stood there and remained silent. She was wearing a wide grin, and atop her head sat two blue cat-like ears. She looked a lot older than her jade-eyed companion.

"The highblood proved a nuisance. Those purple blooded can stand ground against you." The child said calmly, as though Dirk hadn't just woken from the dead. "You are a very capable fighter." She stated. "I only had to deal with the one."

"Yeah, cool, thanks, kid."

She chuckled. 

"Was this some sort of test for me?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as he hauled himself upright. Ow. He was a bit more sore than he'd realised.  

"Would I have murdered my own men?" She snorted, but his expression didn't change, and he continued watching her closely.

"You know what I mean."

She pulled a bit of a grimace. "It was a test of sorts. Not particularly. It was not planned. However, it was a good opportunity to gauge your strength and compassion." She finally admitted, staring at the ground. He frowned, tested his legs. Nope. He'd sit here for a while longer. 

Although the troll bodies were gone, he spotted the axe man strung up on one of the trees nearby. Oh. Pretty gross.

"What do I get for passing?"

"You get to know me!" The cat troll finally beamed, and god, even wearing the shades, her teeth were brighter than the sun. "I take in a lot of the children, and you seem pretty good! Feel free to stop by any time, just ask around for Nep!"

He said nothing. Because of course he could stop a troll and casually ask for directions. Uh huh.

When were they going to ask how he had come back from the dead? "Where'd you keep those saws of yours?"

"In my mouth."

"You're joking."

"The saw can be flicked back into the cap. It's far more convenient than concealing them in my clothing. Clothing can easily be removed."

Again, he wanted to throw up. "Yeah, and for all the waking up after having saws stuck in my head, I'm an odd case."

"A rainbow drinker?" The cat troll asked, blue tail swishing. If only, if only.

"Something like that." He lied.

"Well, you should visit my non official orphanage sometime!" She practically glowed. "I can always spare blood!"

"Will do." He promised.

They never told him their names.

He left unsure whether he would ever see the two trolls again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moonlight Sonata being the pinnacle of sad songs strikes me as both amusing and bitter. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Dirk is a big silly child has likely run across some of the SGRUB trolls without realising it.


	5. 2b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the a bit of dialogue by hand and then typed it up. Writing with a pen morphs my entire style, it's a little odd. There's a very noticeable change when it shifts to my hand-written dialogue.
> 
> I'd also like to point out that this is not a very omniscient third person narrator. I know sometimes my dialogue is confusing because people can't follow what the characters are feeling/thinking. It is however extremely difficult for me myself to tell because, well, I'm in the heads of all those minds I'm writing.

Rosaline's house sprawled beside a fast-flowing river that spilled over into a roaring waterfall. The fields that stretched upon the cliffside were filled with a kaleidoscope of colours and Dirk was hit by nostalgia from the sight. The three storey building was clean cut, all sharp edges, but the observatory jutted out as a round anomaly. 

Dirk had taken several planes to get here, and now that he had arrived, he felt a little trepidatious. Fuck if this was the right decision. He should stop visiting them, leave them to die, eventually the little bit of Dave and Rose and John in them would fade and eventually they'd all be normal people.

But _he_ never would, not unless he died.

The answer to his problems should've been clear. Die, Dirk, die! Death would be sweet in its reprieve, but he was a coward. He longed for the normality and their smiles, and to be around them even if just for a while, he could almost grin. Duty? His excuse to himself that he had a duty to survive...

It felt feeble. It _was_ feeble.

His head was swimming in doubt when he took the winding path through the lawn up to the front door and knocked. Not a second later, the white rectangle opened and there stood Rosaline, smiling primly.

"I knew you would be coming." She said, ushering him inside. He left his shoes and kept his katana. The living room was like the rest of the house, expansive, with pink and purple adorning the walls. There were shelves stuffed with books, plush couches, a tea table, a flight of stairs, and a doorway into a kitchen. There was a very large ceiling fan, which was strange considering it was always fairly cold. He felt slightly odd, being invited inside without even an introduction.

"And what else do you know about me?" Perhaps their powers didn't fade after all, perhaps they got stronger, sometimes were more themselves than during other lives.

"Nothing." She said with a smile, sitting down on a lace threaded pillow, hands folded across her lap. Dirk just lumped down across her. The tea table sat between them. "But I can infer much."

"The game." He said, feeling the words like foreign objects in his mouth. "How much you do you remember?"

"Nothing but tentacles blacker than night, and faces that just elude my grasp."

"Jake English, my friend;" he began listing them all off, looking for recognition in her features. "Roxy Lalonde, my best friend; Rose Lalonde, her sister; Dave Strider, my brother; John Egbert, his best friend; Dirk Strider, me; Jade Harley-"

"Say no more, these names mean nothing to me." Disappointment, bitter, bitter, bitter. "All save Rose Lalonde." Her smile grew wider. "It sounds right."

"Rosaline is a mockery." A mockery of Rose Lalonde. The world had created and molded Rosaline in a facade of Rose's former glory.

"To you, Rosaline may be, but we also are our own people." She stood, and slowly made her way towards him. "I cannot deny that the world pulls me to become Rose Lalonde, but we are different." She stopped before him, took his chin in a hand and tilted it upwards to meet her gaze. He tensed under her touch. "And I sense that this is a fact that you often have difficulty accepting."

"If you're so adamant on being a stranger, why invite me in and why dig up the past? Hardly what a stranger would do." He snarled, jerking his head out of his grasp, leaving her looking slightly amused.

"My infatuation with SBURB was a mere curiosity." She said, looking him up and down. She paused. "You should stay with me."

"Stay?" Surely she meant only a few days, not longer, nope-

"I could aid you in overcoming your doubt about your identity." She responded cooly, still standing. "Stay as long as need be. There will likely be no one else as understanding or accommodating about your hesitance. I understand that you are determined to be your past self, so far as to keeping your name-" Oh. Yup. He was never going to tell her. Something must've shown on his face behind his shades, because she smirked and patted his hair. "Do not stress about it. I know that Dave, too, has kept his name and has recently moved out of this state." Dave kept his name? Interesting. But then again, he was the Knight of Time. It kind of made sense, not particularly. "Stay for as long as we live."

"But the world is shrouded with a miasma of uncertainty, it is your identities that I am unclear of." He said. He uttered the words because he carried the weight of a thousand deaths on his shoulders.

"You see what you wish to." She replied, and he laughed because did she not witness the nightmares? Was she so blinded that she missed the sieve that her every thought was filtered through? Her hand on his face was gentle, as one might approach a wounded creature. "You have all the time in the world to recover, the only obstacle that stands before you is yourself."

"Is it not always?" He snorted. "Is it not the way of humanity, of trolls, and all us fools? I _do_ wish to live in the day, Rose, but the night is unforgiving in its approach." 

"Your soul is stronger than steel, it is your mind that wavers. Set your unease aside, and perhaps we shall conquer this together."

"Conquer this fucked up reality?" He hissed. "You were mistaken, Rose! It is not that I wish to be Dirk. There is nothing that I long for more than to see every one of us as typical humans galavanting across everyday. It would be easier for me to leave you all behind like Jonathan has done, leave you all behind to rot."

"Yet," A small smile curved on her lips, and she leaned forwards until their noses nearly brushed. "life is too empty without us, no?"

He glowered. She was a witch, a puppeteer who twitched the strings of humans. Her blonde lashes were long, and purple smouldered back at his shades. She was too close, he wanted out, he didn't like touching.

"Which is precisely why you should stay." She purred. "And we would do things our ancestors would never have even dared dream of, for example, partaking in typical activities between two humans of different genders."

And then she slung a leg over his, slid into his lap, and kissed him full on the lips. It was a touch that spoke eons more desperation than her words.

Dirk froze, royally flipped off the handle, and swan dived into the pool of insanity.

He pushed her away as gently as he could with shaking hands, and shook his head furiously. "Rose what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck."

"My name is Rosaline." She stated simply, still seated on his legs. "And should we engage in this, the last thing you would think of would be Rose. It is a rather viable route to recovery."

He continued pushing her until she stood, and then he too got to his feet, carefully composing his face. "If this is your form of medication, I don't think I'll be your patient."

She frowned, "I understand it may be difficult for you to accept, but it is honestly one of the most reliable-"

"No." He said sharply. 

"You reject me now simply because I am Rosaline Lalonde. If I were a stranger, you would not balk."

"I-" His mouth suddenly felt very, very dry. 

"Sexual intercourse is one method in which people distract themselves, and what you see of me you would never attribute to Rose."

"Holy fuck _no._ I can't. I really, really can't do this." He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away, but she held steadfast and he didn't really want to tip her over. 

"It is your mind that wavers, as I said before."

"You can't just throw me into this. I'm not even straight!" He mentally wrung his hands. How had he gotten into this situation where an alternate Rose had kissed him? Life was becoming more confusing by the minute. "Okay, I get that you believe I have an identity crisis and want to masquerade as Dirk, as well as being confused as to whether you are or aren't my dead friend, but no, give me time, I just need-"

"Time?" Rosaline threw her head back and laughed. "So you can fade away like me? At points ravenous for knowledge of the past and other times sick to death? All this waiting! It goes nowhere, we do nothing but torment ourselves. Let us fight this together."

Dirk gave her a good, long look. In the plainest truths, he did not trust her. She was unpredictable, unclear, and he did not know what her motives truly were. She seemed unhesitant to hurl him into an uncomfortable situation without asking first for consent. She acted as though she knew what was the best for him, and perhaps she was right, this _was_ the best course of action for him.

But he didn't like it. If he was going to be taking her words in stride, then he'd treat her like a stranger, and he wouldn't stay in a stranger's home.

"No." Was his answer. The word sounded like hollow little seeds in his ears.

"I see. Then why not take some time to think it through, as you requested before?" She asked with serious eyes. "I'll give you a little time for  _that._ You are the last one of all of us that I'll ask, please reconsider."

"No." He repeated, a little more firmly. "This is hardly a wise course of action and," He peered over the rim of his shades. "You don't know a thing about me."

She said nothing, only frowned as he exited. He picked up his shoes from his doorway and didn't look back.

He left the isolated villa overlooking a roaring waterfall wondering if he'd made the right decision. It didn't end up mattering, anyway, because he never had the chance to amend his choice.

He had been drinking his daily mug of steaming coffee and nothing else, seated in front of a cafe with the sun in his eyes as he clutched a newspaper. On the crumpled headline they announced that Rosaline Lalonde had painted the walls in coloured names, hung her cats from her ceiling fan, chiseled "JUST1C3" into the tea table and then launched herself from the balcony.

They found her body at the base of the waterfall.

The plane was hell. Dirk swayed across the dark streets and meandered because he did not know where he was going. Back to his apartment? Back to the mundane? What choice, through all this and whatever he had ever did, had he ever made? 

Evidently not the right ones.

He passed under few streetlights and the city was silent. It's bustle and breathe were gone; dead, save this rhythmic sound of flesh on steel and laughter and he remembered a night thirty years ago when flames had reflected in his shades and blood had filled his mouth and his knees had been skinned raw. 

He was no hero, he had only ever survived SBURB through luck. Nevertheless, he looked for the source of the sound because the alleys were filled with dark corners and sharp edges and the watching eyes of many. 

He thought of a little girl walking alone as he stepped away from the lights on the streets and into the dark twisted corridor where men were beating up another young troll child. They carried batons and steel and Dirk was flooded with a sudden, uncontrollable anger. She was small, bloodied, and with a long mane of unruly hair matted with dark blue blood. Her eyes! He was lost in the one with eight, symmetrical pupils. 

His katana slid cleanly through the first body. It screamed, crumpled.

"Finn, I thought you were supposed to be on guard duty, you just let some fucker in!"

He took the head off the next. Someone grabbed his arm.

"Holy shit, I told you to scrap torture, we should've just damn gutted her! Her mind'll just snag whoever's unwary!"

More hands reached for him and he struggled. He was drowning in the limbs that grasped for him and no matter how hard he twisted they kept gripping tighter and tighter. It was like seaweed except for how they hit him, and he thought of an endless ocean and drones.

Someone was laughing. It was high-pitched, resonant. A child's mirth: "You're all so fucking stupid!" (Children shouldn't have to say fuck, or whore, or any other thing else on the streets uttered from cracked lips) "I'll always fight! I'll always hate you! Die! Die! Die-"

A blade slid through her chest, blue splattered over his side, and his head was abruptly clear.

"You-" His words were cut off as the hands slammed him into a cold stone wall, and they glared at him and he realised that his katana was covered in dark red blood. "Stop killing-" He growled, and they hit him again and again and he thought about an apartment burning as they dragged him out into the street. His skin was scraped raw until they made him stand and pushed him forwards before them. His body was so sore, his body was beaten black and blue, but they left his shades. He did not know why.

They kicked at him, snarled. "Little girl's mind control was shit, you just wanted an excuse to fuck with us, didn't you?"

"You shouldn't be hurting children." He told them, and they laughed and cut at his exposed skin.

"She taunted us and riled us into fucking slitting each other's throats! Is that a child? That's a god damn  _devil!_ "

They hauled him all the way to the park, and in the streetlights he noticed that during his visit to Rosaline's house someone had freshly planted apple saplings in the dying grass. They would grow nice and strong on the blood of the bodies, he mused. He remembered once upon a time on the meteor Dave had bugged Rose into alchemizing apples, and had used his Time powers to grow the little seed into a huge sprawling tree. They had all dangled in the branches, chewing appreciatively on the fruits.

One of his captors had gotten a rope from somewhere. Another had a stool. A crowd had gathered, trolls and human alike. There were a few scuffles where humans tried to keep trolls away, and eventually the grey-skinned aliens settled further away to watch. Someone else had lit up torches, and he worried that they might burn the park down.

Of course they didn't. This was the only place with trees, after all. The only reasonable place for a quick, unofficial hanging. They tossed his katana away, and some other person scrambled to get their dirty hands on it. Before he could look for the damn robber, a blow stung his cheek and they fitted a noose around his neck, held him still as they stood him on the stool and tied his lifeline around a good, sturdy tree branch.

In the flicker of the firelight he could make out all the faces watching him and watching each other. They tore his shades from his face and threw it into the grass. No one hurried to snatch them up, because they were only useless relics of a dead man.

The stool was kicked away from under his feet, and he dangled.

There was a teenager with pale hair that caught the light and caught both Dirk's eye and his breath. Did Dirk recognise him? No idea, but that fuckerhad his katana. He had left a tracking chip in it the last time it was nicked, right? He had no idea. 

His neck began to burn, his thoughts swirled, and he found himself thinking of jade eyes and a girl who skipped down this same winding path. Would she see his body hanging? He remembered the axe man, limp body hung up by his entrails and he remembered John who also died because he couldn't breathe and he thought about Roxy, Dave and Rose who had burned in an apartment in the same city.

He thought grimly that he should've accepted Rosaline's offer, whoever she was. What offer? It had been a demand, right? He couldn't remember. He couldn't think. His head felt bloated and full of cotton. 

Ten minutes passed slowly, and his breathing grew laboured and his body felt too heavy.

Dirk Strider died under the watchful eyes of men, women, children, trolls of every blood colour, and under the gaze of Dave Strider.

His brother never recognised the hanging man as his missing guardian for even an instant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We are the cause of our problems, we hate ourselves so much." - A theme that wiggled its way into my story on its own. What a cheeky li'l thing.


	6. 2c

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "whats this  
> someone else is in the story  
> oh wait  
> nvm  
> theyre gone"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I quite enjoy about re-incarnation is that I don't have to put up the Major Character Death tag, and so no one knows when/whether I'll kill characters.  
> Or if I'll kill them permanently.

Dirk had taken to filming porn anew.

No, not what it sounded like. There was an explanation to it. After a few days, once the sun had greeted the sky and his body was hanging limply alone, he had (been strangled again the first time) managed to pull himself up and wriggle out from the noose around his neck, only to return to his apartment to find that someone else had apparently taken up residence there. Well, his landlord really was efficient. He kicked down the door and snagged stray smuppets that sat high up on an unwary shelf that his landlord had failed to collect, and also nicked the new tenant's computer. The new guy could probably do without it.

His new apartment was far smaller. He could've always robbed a bank or hacked somebody's bank account, but that simply was too mundane. Besides, his smuppets had gone without affection for far too long (he hadn't really used them after he met Jake). They were actually better than he remembered, especially when he bounced on their long, curved noses and groaned Jake's name.

He thought time had dulled the cutting edge of Jake's death, but it sharpened with memory. He didn't-

He wanted to forget Jake, because  _his_ Jake was gone.

He tossed the smuppets away in disgust once he was slumped on the futon. They landed, bounced with obscene squeaks, and ended strewn over the floor. He'd need to wash them later.

Jake would be re-incarnated. The thought was not, not _, not_ at all a blessing.

Ugh. He needed to strife something, anything. He needed his katana; it was unbreakable, and sharp to boot. He wondered if he really had installed a chip in there. Once, ten years prior, a group of nifty trolls had managed to bonk him over the head and make away with his blade. They got halfway down the street before Dirk flashstepped right up to them, planted a boot in their backs, and wrenched his weapon out of their thieving hands. He really didn't want to risk a situation like that again where the robbers might actually get away, so to his faulty memory, he guessed he had installed some sort of tracking device into the trusty katana.

The chip (that he had installed after all) took him down winding streets and through closed doors to a rather ordinary-looking apartment. He noted, also, that this happened to be the room on the highest floor. That was one very, very, plain apartment door. Wasn't a penthouse, this.

He kicked it down.

Then proceeded to gape, because what _._ The place was almost a mirror image of his own apartment: Shitty swords lay abundant, a futon sat in the centre of a small living room, there was a kitchen connected to said living room and there were two other bedrooms and a bathroom that also branched off from that main living area. Their doors were closed, but Dirk could hear the distinct pulse of music thumping away from behind one of the doors.

And then one of them swung open and _the man_ himself stepped in. He was wearing a plain, plain red shirt and plainer shorts, but that really wasn't what Dirk was looking at. The glimpse he caught of the room behind the guy was confirmation enough; it was filled with tangled wires and photos stuck haphazardly to the walls.

If Dirk had been anybody with less self composure, his jaw would've hit the floor. 

"So," The speaker's shades shone. "do you think it'd be too rude of me to ask why the hell some guy's just kicked down my door?"

Dave freakin' Strider, casual as usual, had been the one that stole his weapon?

"Man, you've got my katana." 

Dave's eyebrows lifted above his shades, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. "Don't think it's yours. Finder's keepers, man."

"You forget the face of a hanging man so quickly?" Dirk couldn't help the smirk that crept onto his face. He willed it to go away. 

Dave swept his eyes up and down Dirk's form, eyebrows climbing even higher. "Huh. So who rescued you? Thought we all watched you choke on your blood."

Dirk's small grin was predatory. "No one that you would know. But," He took a step forwards, watched Dave tense. "I intend to take back what is mine."

"Strife for it." Dave said at the precise moment Dirk commanded: "Roof. Now."

The living room was empty in seconds as the two flashstepped away, and Dirk snagged a shoddy sword from the kitchen counter. It practically crumbled in his hands.

The roof was hauntingly familiar, a vent in the corner and otherwise broad expanse. Dirk wondered for a moment if Dave had sub-consciously chosen an apartment that looked similar to his own in the previous universe. From here he could feel the cool night's air, see the flashing city lights, and hear stray shouts floating upwards. The light pollution, he mused, obscured what would've been an otherwise bright, brilliant sight. 

On the meteor, the stars and the galaxies had always been vivid and endless in their broad, coloured streaks across the darkness. He hadn't realised how long it'd been since he last saw the open night sky and actually stopped to admire it; he hardly stayed in the park after dark.

The door flew open, and Dirk spun around to wrap his fingers around the hilt of a sword that flew towards his head. He wasn't wearing a cap, he had long abandoned that nonsensical habit, but despite the cold of the night he still wore his typical black wife-beater and shorts. Dave was holding Dirk's katana in steady hands, and he slammed the door shut. Dirk tossed away the sword he had previously picked up on his own, and it fell to the roof with a clatter.

Dave spun in movements that should not have been attributed to fighting- a timed breath, a smooth lunge, and a flourish to cap it all off. He graced the floor with strides moulded and sculpted by the years and the fingers of time, and Dirk could not keep his eyes away because this was a show, for him and his eyes only, on a rooftop of a crumbling city for all the stars to illuminate. Dave was the hand of the night, the twister of life; he was the man that commanded the elements at his will and when he swung and when his breath ran jagged, Dirk thought that surely Dave could feel the tick of time in his veins and the pulse of the world because even Dirk could feel it pounding away in _his_ chest and flowing in his every stroke.

Dave was not a 'fighter'; he was not a mere human waving a stick of steel! Dave, a hero dead and live and dead again, he was a _dancer_. The mundane man would fall to his swings, would fail to see the beauty, would die by the scores, but _Dirk was hardly human._

It was a battle between gods over nothing but a shitty little katana. 

The stars twinkled their mirth when the blade went spinning from Dave's hands and Dirk lunged at his opponent, knocking him to the floor and pinning him down as they panted into each other's ears.

"You've gotten good, Dave." He chuckled, and he let the man under him raise a hand to push his round shades into his matted hair.

"How they hell'd you know my name?"

"I just stomped your ass into the ground and knew you had my katana. You think I wouldn't know your name?" Dirk smirked, and his muscles were unfamiliar to the action. "You're talking to a god here." His heartbeat was still racing for some reason, and from night's light he could see Dave's pale skin shining with sweat and he could see his wide red eyes. He leaned close to peer over his own shades and look into that gorgeous colour while Dave stiffened under his touch.

"Yeah yeah, whatever." Dave's casual tone was forced, his breath itself was still ragged, yet he did not break Dirk's gaze. Their new competition, Dirk thought rather childishly, was a staring contest. "Gonna take your sword and leave?"

"Hey." Dirk smirked, wrapping his arms around Dave's thin waist. The kid would never fill out in any lifetime, it seemed. He stood, half-dragging Dave's body up with him. "Why not spend some time and enjoy the view?"

"What the-" Dave flailed, and Dirk jerked his head back to avoid being smacked by a wild elbow. "The hell, let me down!" 

"Hup!" He tossed Dave upwards to hug the protesting guy closer and tighter. "No can do, lil' bro." He found that, rather unwittingly, he was grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm probably older than you!" Dave's voice was indignant as Dirk approached the edge of the roof, and his struggling intensified. "Woah woah woah no wait don't kill me just for your bloody katana jeeeeeeez-"

Dirk plopped Dave right down by the edge so his legs were dangling off the building and flopped down next to him, watching Dave's reactions closely. 

He'd missed his brother.

Dave's sudden wide eyes told him that, apparently, he'd spoken the thought aloud.

"You really _are_ nuts, I have no idea who you are. My brother was years older than me." Dave breathed, and the words, although Dirk knew they were true from the start, they still hurt.

Dirk spent a long time scrutinising Dave, from his silky hair to his wide eyes and still heaving chest, from his long elegant fingers to his grazed legs, and he decided that Dave hadn't changed much. 

Then he remembered Rosaline and Jonathan. _  
_

This _wasn't_ Dave, this was some obscene mockery that the world had conjured with Dave's face and it wasn't his brother, there was no way, look at everybody else. This man before him didn't even recognise him. What had Dirk expected? Randomly, suddenly, everything would change and Dave would miraculously remember? Dave would look into his eyes and call him Bro and everything would be right? That Jake would ever come home? It would never happen. He should've learnt to leave these people alone. Everyone had told him, the world had shown him, that they weren't his friends.

"This was mistake." He said abruptly, standing. He schooled his expression into a careful indifference, and watched as Dave's eyebrows furrowed. "I'm sorry."

"You are so weird, dude. Are we going to go gay stargazing or not? You're leading me on here."

Dirk thought about Rosaline and her cats hanging from their small little necks, he thought about Rose and Roxy and the other Dave burning in a building, he thought about John and meagre peanuts. He thought about god tier and dying for the first time, about his own head sitting away from his shoulders, about his body hanging while the crowd looked on, about Dave with a sword through his back, about the Dave who'd never come home, about the countless, countless Dave's that fell to the turning of time.

He wouldn't sit around to watch Dave hurt and die again.

"I'll grab my sword and go, later."

And he did just that and nothing else.

\--

Dirk locked himself up in a room with nothing but metal and wires for two whole months. He created a small serving bot, with wheels and delicate little arms, that carried to him food, tugged at him to shower, sleep. More than once his temper erupted at its incessant needling he himself had coded it to do, and it went flying across the room in sparks. To counter this, he built himself a strifing bot, destroyed it, and built several more. They hardly ever lasted long.

He kept working when the building next door burnt down.

He kept working when they filled the streets with screaming.

They kicked down his doors and they filed in, horns shining in the lights and their sharp teeth bared. They hissed and growled and they were filled with such anger towards every last human because tonight was the night, tonight was the end of light, and tonight was the night in which they would all die without regrets because they would fall under their own terms and they would fall for their own people. 

Dirk decapitated every last one of them without a second thought and tossed their heads out the window.

The night was blazing, illuminated not by the soft glow of the stars, but by roaring flames and flashing lights. An entire kaleidoscope of colours decorated the walls of every building. Dirk thought it looked a lot like the fields that surrounded Rosaline's house and Rosaline's body.

Tonight was _his_ night, too. It was the night of truth because tonight he felt it in his bones, he would take his life once and for all. What better heroic act than to unsheathe his katana and step onto the streets with all the vengeance of his dead friends? For John who writhed while the trolls who looked away, for those who burnt while trolls lit an apartment ablaze like a candle on death's birthday cake.

Thirty, maybe forty years? He had been dragging this out too long; stalling for the inevitable that he should have embraced long, long ago. Dirk was finally ready to leave his friends.

He was ready to face fate.

Dirk said not a word when he emerged out onto the streets. Bodies shone under the lights of police sirens, car alarms blared as every vehicle in sight was battered and dented by the angry crowds. Fallen were trampled underfoot by those still raving, and Dirk took the entire scene in with cold eyes. There were more than twenty individual fights, where none of the participants held back- they fought to kill! The trolls had their natural advantage of night vision; special abilities; and even if they were disarmed, they still had their claws. Humans, they had nothing. Dirk's hand tightened its grip on his katana.

He gave no battle cry, no hint of sound as he stepped from the shadows and watched a troll with curved horns smash a woman's head through a parked car's windshield. 

He was more silent than a whisper as his katana flashed with the lights on the streets, and his sleeveless shirt was painted with a new palette. His footfalls were lost in the shouting and crunches of glass as his blade drew a clean arc, and its forever-sharp edge worked its wonders. 

_Flames danced for the sky-_

Rubble showered his form as, a street away, a building erupted in a burst of sound. The roar of flames and heat washed over him and he felt sweat glistening off his bare arms and his jaw clenching. Helicopter blades whirled overhead and there was a megaphone and blinding lights; but it was all trivial! There was nothing but the chaos that was his blade.

_She comes! Sound the drums, bellow your screams, fire your cannons, for tonight is the night! Her horns reach skywards, her hands wield ember, her three-pronged fork like the devil's own; here comes Her Imperial, here comes death!_

A red light, a sniper’s sights.

“We’ve lost contact with Squadron A.”

“-Snipers in position-“

“-Don’t keep your head out of the window you dipshit, fuck the megaphone-“

"-Authorised to fire on citizens-"

“-What are you doing don’t kill the fucking engines what the _FUCK-“_

 _"-_ We've got hell on board-"

 _“-_ Snipers aren’t firing at targets. I repeat: land, _ **land**  while you still can; some troll’s jacked their heads-_“

A second explosion joined the first and the helicopter blades had still been spinning before it erupted and all anyone could see was a black husk shrivelling away in the heart of an inferno.

_Carnage._

Why were they so slow? The trolls never saw him coming until he pierced their already-bleeding bodies, and those that did fell easily under his advance. His limbs burned, his muscles screamed, as did his head, but unlike his body his head screamed for _death._ He wanted to yell at the sky, but it seemed as though his jaw was stitched shut.

He stopped seeing faces, stopped seeing the world because there was only the pounding in his eardrums of his heart, his undeserving pulse.

Stop, someone said, and he made sure they stopped speaking because why was he not yet dead? Stop, they said, are you crazy, they asked. He thought that they were likely right and he told them that he had stumbled headfirst into madness and drowned decades ago. They never answered.

His arm split in a shower of blood and he thought he might’ve laughed and there might’ve been _something_ in his eyes, because his attacker stumbled away and tripped and fell quickly to nice, neat, steel.

The night was a blur of lights and more than sweat stained his chest. Colours, from electric purple to blue to green to yellow to rust to bright red quickly crusting into maroon.

He did not grow wild and frenzied like many madmen. Instead, each stroke was meticulous, calculated, and he left all his rage behind, he left all his disappointment behind, and instead he used that loneliness to sharpen his blade's edge. He was a machine, a vast sprawling AI that no one could ever compare their any creation to, whose every breath was along this pulse of coding that coiled his limbs like a live puppet. Mortal restraints? He was no human.

The street was silent. The sky was lightening and he was surprised that it was already dawn. But perhaps he was wrong and perhaps the sky was alive, because the night seemed to be crawling back into the landscape, down to the buildings, seeping into his eyes and sweeping him up into a tight embrace. 

\--

How many did you kill, they asked, and then they shifted closer to him and his eyes hurt under the bright light. His entire body throbbed. Do you know how many you killed, they said again. Their eyes were narrowed and they pulled their blue caps down lower.

He was confused. Killing? He mumbled, and they shook their heads.

You killed them all, they said. You were absolutely inhuman. We'd say inhumane too, if you hadn't helped us drive the trolls back from the streets.

He told them yes and they kept frowning.

Then they asked for his name and he didn't know what to tell them because he didn't know his name and he didn't know these people in blue and black and white and this clean white room was too empty.

You won't find me on the databases, he said to them, because I'm dead.

You're not dead, they all told him, and his lips tightened and he repeated the phrase again and again. I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead, he murmured, I will see my friends soon.

Son, they said gently, and some of them were looking away. You're one hundred percent alive, and you killed them all. We're going to have to send you to an asylum.

Someone laughed and said that they would send him had they still got an intact asylum. 

I killed my friends? He asked them. He thought he'd remember if he killed them.

No, they said. You didn't, sonny. Don't worry about that.

Then where are my friends?

You never had any, one of them said. The others narrowed their eyes the one who had spoken and their frowns deepened. 

But he had friends. Their names were Roxy and Dave and-

"And I left them to rot." He said. "Nearly a century ago." He calmly added the three policemen who, at this point, were looking vaguely disturbed. "Can I have my sunglasses back? These lights hurt my eyes."

They talked more, Dirk wasn't listening. One of them led him out into a long hall and the rest of them stayed behind and they were probably doing a million stacks of paperwork. The man led him to a room where he saw his katana on the shelf and an array of other weapons. The policeman jingled the keys in his palm while he shuffled around drawers looking for Dirk's shades.

Dirk had always been silent. The man never even had the chance to yell. 

He couldn't afford to be captured by authorities, who'd lock him up and run tests on his body and leave him in empty white rooms and would never let him die. 

He didn't even smirk at the security camera as he left alone, his now-wet katana and shades in hand. He escaped from the station unhindered, stalked the streets in a prowl and stopped to observe the scene  _he_ had created.

They littered the streets, their faces mangled and bodies strewn in heaps. Stray limbs lay across strangers' bodies. The concrete was a palette of every colour, the smell was of rotting, bloating flesh. They stretched as far as eye could see! Lines streaked their bodies where life had bled from their wounds. They were everywhere, had he really killed so many? Had his years of training improved him that much?

Families of both trolls and humans picked through the mass graveyard, eyes downcast. It seemed the feud was set aside in this place and at this time, where death and grief could connect the two. 

Dirk was swamped by nausea, and stumbled to his knees to retch but nothing came up at all. He hardly dared look at the katana in his hands.

And when he looked up again, he saw hell walking towards him in two high heels. She was barely eighteen and was wearing heels already.

"Hey boy, queasy?" She asked, lips curled in a minuscule smirk. "I'm pretty sure the guy that did this decapitated my baby sis, too. Poor lil' Rosey." He attempted to empty his stomach again, with as much success as the first time. Her expression softened. "Okay cutie, I'll lay off the deets then. Need a hand?" He couldn't speak, he didn't trust his mouth, he didn't trust his words, he didn't trust himself.

"Roxy." He managed, rolling onto his back and facing skywards. "Roxy, please don't leave me, don't leave, please-"

"The name's not Roxy." She frowned. "Pretty close, though. Are you one of my buds from a few years ago?"

"Yes." It was a lie. "Rox, my apartment burnt down." That was also a lie. 

"I already know what you're going to ask." She said with a lopsided grin. "And the answer's yes, you can stay for a while."

"You're too trusting." She should've said no. He should've stayed away, but he was tired of staying away, he was tired of this life. 

"Nah, I know your face." She stepped closer (he tried not to look up her skirt, he really did try), squatted down, and put a finger on his shades, asking for permission. He let her. Her other hand cupped his face. "Orange..." She mused. "Huh."

She scooped him up in her arms bridal style and he flinched at her touch.

"Calm down, baby boy."

"I can walk on my own." He stated flatly. "You're in high heels."

"Not for long." She winked as he stared back impassively, slipped out from her arms. Her touch lingered a little too long. "I live just down the street in that," she pointed, "apartment building. Number 413." 

As she walked away and he watched her hips sway, he knew where he'd be at nightfall. He could still turn away, go back home, and no one would be any the wiser.

By the time the sky grew dark, he was knocking on the door of apartment number 413.

 


	7. 2d

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know it, I picked 413 simply because I could not be bothered to use an original number.

The apartment was very pink. Pink along the walls, along the floors, along the closed curtains, along the body of the woman standing before him. In the living room, newspapers were haphazardly splayed across the tea table, and a single armchair sat behind it. A cup of tea sat still steaming on the table. 

She beamed. "So you did come after all!" Fuck. She knew, she definitely knew. He was so busted. She laughed, and the action was confirmation. "Of course I knew your apartment didn't burn down!" She scoffed at him. "The only places that were destroyed were like, the hospital and one of the orphanages or something. No apartments, though."

She ushered him to the armchair and coaxed him to sit, striding off into the adjacent kitchen. He stared at his hands. "An orphanage?"

"Look at the newspapers." She called to him, and he could hear the distinct clinking of porcelain.

He skimmed the articles, suddenly relieved that not-Roxy wasn't in the room so she wouldn't see his breath hitch in his chest.

An unofficial orphanage run by a cat-eared troll, which had just received its clearance to expand, had burst down during the chaos...

_Yesterday night?_

Holy shit fuck. He instantly looked at his hands, which were only slightly bruised with faint cuts adorning his pale skin and he checked his arm, which had been completely mangled last night, but was already only a scar. Of course, god tier healing. That was probably how he'd even lived through the entire thing. How hadn't he realised it'd only been a day? Would people really leave bodies out for more than a week? He gripped something, the closest thing, and tried not the grit his teeth.

A fresh wave of nausea hit him, and he thought about how he failed to even kill himself. Hell, he never even knew that jade-eyed troll's name! Instead he simply killed, killed  _everybody,_ including Rose. Rosie. He killed his friends, he killed them all; hung their bodies out for the elements to suck and their eyes for crows to pluck, hung them out to dry and skewered them on his sword and left their heads out on pikes for all the world to see.

His hands tightened on his knees and he dimly realised he was shaking. 

He was just so, so tired. Let life take him where it wanted, he was done. 

A warm hand on his shoulder grounded him, and a cup of hot chocolate was placed on the newspapers alongside a plate of cookies. Perfect comfort food. He looked up at not-Roxy who was gazing down at him with an unfathomable expression on her face.

She crouched next to the armchair, held his hand, placed a cookie in it. He chewed mechanically, the taste lost on him, keeping his eyes fixed to the newspapers that lay strewn like bodies on the street.

Her hand shifted to curl under his chin, cup his cheek, and she ran a thumb along his cheekbone.

... He knew where this was going.

He didn't pull away when she tugged him out of the chair and into the bedroom.

\--

Dirk awoke to light gently filtering through thin curtains, casting the entire room in a dull, pink glow. He blinked, still lost in the miasma that was hazy sleep. 

He was very abruptly jolted into reality when he realised that there was a body pressed to his, curled up with her mouth hanging open and probably drooling all over his shir- He wasn't wearing a shirt. 

He rolled and tumbled out of the bed, nearly dragging the blanket down with him. Roxy was also topless and he felt bile rise to his throat and he bolted out of the room, into the bathroom and dry heaved into the toilet, gripping the seat as he shook. 

What the fuck, what the fuck, he hadn't even been drunk, but he couldn't remember anything. Did he fuck the not-Roxy? He hadn't been in bed with anybody for the last thirty years, oh god, w-

"Hey."

He was pretty sure he had a heart attack and died. She was leaning against the doorframe, a shirt haphazardly tossed on and slipping down a shoulder.

"You know, you're still wearing your boxers."

Wait, he was? Thank god for that. Did that mean-

"You basically started crying as soon as you sat onto the bed. Aaaand who the hell screws crying people? Not me, fo' sure."

This was so humiliating.

She laughed, ruffled his hair as she walked past, and made to the sink to run a towel under warm water. "Nah, don't get me wrong." She said. Dirk was still kneeling before the toilet. He closed the lid and settled his head on it, turning to face her. His cheek was smushed against the lid and his eyelids felt heavy. Right. He had apparently been crying. Trying to imagine himself crying pretty much resulted in a brain shutdown. 

"I did originally invite you in as a one-night stand." The tap shut, and she knelt before him to wipe his face down. He felt like a child, and for a moment he wished for his childhood and his older brother Dave and Dave's warm hands. "And I lied, I didn't know you from nowhere, but you definitely knew me. Could see it in your eyes."

His heart shattered right there and then.

"Yeah, 'm sorry, kid. You're not even of age. Shouldn't even have considered for a fuck right after Rosie died." She said, pressing the towel against his closed eyes. "We're all in mourning, yeah? It's either this or I drink. I shouldn't have dragged you into this."

"It's not your fault." He mumbled. "I wanted to see you."

The towel was removed, and he saw her raise an eyebrow. "Hell, how'd you want to see me if you don't even know my name? You called me a lot of things last night, Roxy, Jake, Dave- Who else? Roxy I'm fine with, but guy's names? Really?"

"They used to look after me." He replied shortly. "I miss them."

Her expression softened, and the towel went for round two under the warm water. "Yeah, I know. I miss Rosie."

He would never tell her that he was the one that killed her beloved younger sister.

"They just barged into the apartment, forced her out the window. Couldn't save her." Roxy continued, eyes darkening. "Doubt she was killed by the impact, but it would've crippled her too much to keep her away from that mad guy on the streets. He was totally nuts, you know that?"

He nodded, yeah, he knew exactly how insane "that mad guy" was. 

"Some people think he's a robot, apparently he was moving insanely quick." She said, crouching and pressing the towel to his face once more. "No pictures, passed out afterwards. The police should've taken him in, dunno. They didn't release any deets yet. But I hope that guy dies." He was suddenly glad for the fact that his eyes were closed, because then she might've seen his guilt. 

"Rox." He said quietly under her ministrations. "I don't think we should see each other after this." She paused, took the towel away, and leant back on her feet, expression blank. He opened his eyes. "You don't even remember me." He continued.

Guilt flashed across her face and she sighed. "I get it, no, I really do. It's fine, you're just a cute piece of ass."

"I don't think I can give what you're looking for." He responded truthfully. He couldn't give her a relationship, not even just a friends with benefits things, never her.

She nodded. "That's fine."

\--

When he returned to his apartment later in the afternoon, he hid all his hair gel away in the cupboards, practically dunked his head into the sink, pulled out a spare pair of aviators, and stared into the mirror. He looked a lot like Dave, but with a sharper chin, and the glasses were a little off. His hair still flicked wildly as though it was trying to reach for the skies, and he ran a hand through the rebellious strands. 

He didn't know what he had done, was doing, and would do.

\--

It really wasn't all that surprising when Dirk woke in a city of shaded glass. He let a small smile curve his lips because hey- he was going to see his friends.

Whatever happiness he had was knocked out from him when someone like a runaway trainbarrelled into his chest and he was scooped up into the air.

"Hey bro." It was Dave, beta Dave, in his stupid god tier outfit. Dirk idly wondered for a moment if they ever even got changed.

Dave began swinging Dirk around and Dirk's feet automatically began searching for the concrete but, right. He was a metre off the ground, so instead he stiffened up and took the torture. Dave was grinning widely, something that he only really did around John and Dirk, and his hands were wrapped around Dirk's waist. 

"Pretty enthusiastic welcome-" Dirk began.

A second blue bolt crashed into him but Dave refused to let go, and they became this spinning bundle of mess and Dirk was pretty sure he could hear Rose chuckling away. Blue and red cloth wrapped around his face and Dirk was having difficulty breathing.

"Yo, John, hand's off." Dave said, and he felt the arms around his waist tighten further. 

"You get him aaaall the time!"

"We need some bro bonding time, y'know? Otherwise our broship is gonna slowly crumble 'cause out in the real world he's seeing other bros. It's tragic, it is."

Dirk finally wrenched the mass of cape covering his nose and mouth and took a large gasp of air, which immediately caught the two friends' attentions.

"You nearly suffocated me, bastards."

For the first time in years, Dirk was smiling when he woke up. 

\--

It was no surprise that he went to sleep more and more often, longing for his reprieve with the dead men.

Five of them huddled sat around Dirk in a small circle, while the city towered around and Dirk tried to forget the bodies lined up behind the glass. Who came up with that idea anyway? (It sounded a lot like something Bro would've done, but Dirk ignored that). There was a light breeze here and there, and despite that fact that they were surrounded by a cityscape, the wind brought to him the aroma of grass and open fields - something Dirk didn't often smell. 

"We were having these one-offs against our alternate selves the other day," Dave was saying, gesturing with his hands. "And-"

"His butt was totally whipped." John chirped, and Dave shook his head. 

"Nuh nuh nuh," Wave wave wave. "I went down with Strider grace. I was like a swan, infinite in my majesty."

"You were screaming and flailing, Dave." Rose said rather pointedly, but it seemed her heart wasn't in it. Dirk studied her for a moment, and he saw an eon of sadness and tiredness in her eyes.

"He tried!" Jade. "But you really should've seen the two Bro's go!" 

"What about me?" Dirk and Dave's heads jerked up to meet their elder, Bro (His name was really Dirk but they called both the older two 'Bro' nevertheless.) who was standing behind their little cross-legged circle. He wore a wide smirk, with one hand stuffed in his pocket and the other gripping the katana resting on his shoulder. His skin shone with perspiration, and the rise and fall of his chest was a little ragged. "Hey, lil' man." He said to Dirk, who nodded in response. To a stranger, Bro might've seemed relaxed, but Dirk could see that he was coiled like a spring. 

Dirk only caught a flash of his other Bro before the older him whipped around, katana already swinging. All six teenagers stared.

"The only time we watched them strife was yesterday." Dave whispered to Dirk, who watched the older two dance around one another with finesse. They seemed to glide like wraiths, insubstantial. That would never be him, Dirk thought to himself. Because he would never grow old and die. He had to admit, he was jealous of both the older versions of themselves, with their powerful arms and flashing shades and quick steps and he would never, never have what they had-

Both swords clattered to the ground at the exact same moment and suddenly Alpha Dave was tightly wrapped in Beta Dirk's arms, gripping his face as they kissed and the Dave sitting beside Dirk yelped and hid his red cheeks in his hands: "I guess this is why we never watch them strife! Always ends like this! They're like starfish," Dave mumbled into his fingers. Dirk saw Rose sitting back with a wide smirk, but the pain was still in her eyes, while John and Jade engaged each other in some sort of strange thumb war. "Starfish are always wrapped around each other, yeah? And-" Dave yelped again as Alpha Dave was suddenly crouched next to him, flicking his ear. 

"Watch your mouth." He said to Dave, and then turned to Dirk and nodded, a small smile on his face. "Hey, lil' bro."

Dirk raised an eyebrow in response, watching Beta Dirk sheathe his katana. "Hey. Congratulations on your... relationship."

Alpha Dave laughed, and Dirk saw Beta Dave's ears redden. "We all know he's a giant raging gay, and there really wasn't anybody else around his age. Jade's grandpa is a  _grandpa,_ for god's sake."

"Not that you're complaining about ... Dirk." Dirk said, cocking his head slightly.

"No, of course not." Alpha Dave said, still grinning. "He's really not at all like you: it's not as though I'm dating the kid I raised. I'm pretty sure we've both never been happier." He looked back to where Beta Dirk was sauntering off, and Dirk had to agree he'd never seen his Bro grin so much. "Well, I'm off, see you later." He said, ruffling Dirk's hair, who didn't even protest. "I know life out there's difficult, just hang in there, okay? Don't kill yourself for our sakes." At this point it seemed that the thumb war had stopped, and everybody was listening in. Dirk suddenly felt as though he was just thirteen again. 

"Yeah I- sure." Dirk responded hesitantly, Alpha Dave screwed up Dirk's hair once more, and then disappeared after his lover. 

"Dirk," Rose began rather gently. Dirk's stomach immediately dropped because that tone was the one that meant shit was coming. "We receive our alternate form's bodies after they die, and I found that one of mine had been diced up by a number of deep wounds across her stomach, missing two limbs, and you should know that I've taken a mould of your katana before."

The ground was suddenly very, very, interesting. Dirk stared at it intently.

"I lost myself for a little while." He said truthfully. "Like a ghost with the living." He really didn't want to have this honest admittance moment in front of everybody - but wait. Jake and Jane weren't here. Where were the two? How hadn't he noticed earlier? Oh god. He even had a crush on Jake! How had he forgotten the boy with brilliant green eyes? It didn't matter; what mattered were his friends that were looking at him because they knew that he had broken.

"Aww, Dirky-boy," Roxy cooed, tugging him into an embrace and holding him close. He tried not to suffocate, but then they were all around him, patting his hair and he tried not to cry.

"Oh my golly, Dirk!" It was Jake, and Dirk turned his head and he saw _his_ Jake, the _real_ Jake. Jane was holding onto his waist and their fingers were intertwined. Jake flashed her a brief look that conveyed years of affection and their fingers tightened. "I apologize! I would've been here much earlier if anybody had told me you arrived!"

Dirk had no words for boy with jet black hair and gleaming green eyes.

This time he willingly buried himself into Roxy's chest, tears openly running down his cheeks and he was probably making a mess of her outfit but she didn't seem to care; and it was probably Dave holding his hand and telling him it was alright, that it would all be fine; Rose who sat silently, rubbing his back but not saying a word because she knew it would be foolish to promise life would be fine; it was Jake and Jane that awkwardly patted him shoulder because they didn't know why he was crying; John and Jade who sat back and tried to find the right comforting words and Roxy who held him close as though it would protect him from the world.

But she couldn't, of course she couldn't, she was dead. She was gone.

He looked up at her, and she seemed almost ethereal, pink eyes staring back. He turned his tear-streaked head to Rose, and he said very slowly and carefully: "I have the best friends in the world." And he saw in her eyes that she knew precisely what he was going to say. The words and comfort of the others around him seemed to slowly ebb away, as though he was stepping away from his body and looking through a stranger's eyes. "I _had_ the most amazing friends. But they are gone, and I am alone."

Dave's hand on his seemed to grow insubstantial, and he was no longer nestled in Roxy's arms. Jake's murmurs disappeared. The city dissolved, crumbled, but when the looming towers toppled and rubble hit the ground and shattered and faded into white, it made not a noise. The breeze vanished and he did not smell fields. His heart was empty.

It was just him, Rose, and the void; an endless sky of blindingly white clouds that he could never touch, never feel. The city, his friends, they had never existed! The dream of his mind unravelled as quickly as it had come. 

"They were never there, were they?" He asked her. She was still cross-legged and she stared down at her hands. "Playing with my head, Rose." 

"I last saw them a year ago." She said, not lifting her head. "What I showed you was all the truth. They have had that conversation before. Your guardians _are_ in a relationship. Jake and Jane-" She didn't seem to be able to continue, and she gripped the edge of her god tier outfit until her already pale knuckles went white. "We all went on an expedition, we all embarked on different dream bubbles hoping one day you'd run into one of us, and we would finally be able talk to you."

"You didn't have to make an illusion out of it." He replied to her hollowly, and it seemed like in this endless expanse his words were snatched away by the never-ending white.

"I thought it would've made you happier." She was shaking and there were tears running down from her closed eyes. "Last week I _did_ come across Rosie's body, and it must be hard, Dirk. I know-"

"You didn't have to give me hope." (He was lying, he did not have hope. The Page of Hope was held in someone else's hands) He said, tilting his head upwards because he couldn't look at her, couldn't stand to unless he also wanted to cry. "I only just realised they were never here, and this is like losing them all over again."

"I-"

"I've lost you all so many times." He said quietly. "I don't know what to do."

"Live." She said almost breathlessly. "We all want you to live. Live for us."

"Life is empty."

"Fill it with joy, you can make a difference." She said, and she hesitated for a very long time, so long that Dirk was beginning to wonder if she would disappear like all the rest of his friends. Finally, she added slowly: "Today they demolish an apartment complex out on the east outskirts of the city.

**Dirk wondered: Rose, what have you Seen?**

Step through the ruins,

**How many more do I kill?**

listen to the wind whistle in your ears - the construction workers have already begun!

little ants in a big wide world what difference do they ever make

_what difference can you ever make, Dirk?_

they drew line by line across the ground with their paints and inks because they marked destruction and little did they know

under the yellow ropes _through the steel scaffolds_

_up the crumbling stairs and through a charred door_

_there was a child crying._

_no one would ever know his story._

_no one_ _will ever know._

 _Had his parents seen him a burden_ _or had they_ _swept out the window,_ _over the city as dust,_ _as ashes,_

_as everything torn by time,_

_or had they never existed at all,_ _and instead in a place far away had a boy pressed the buttons and_   _was_ _a life born-_   _a life in a building to go down because_   _a city is in chaos._

_a city was in chaos._

_a city will be in chaos._

_husks stood where once towered skyscrapers._   _dust blew, the shattered windows could not reflect._

 _time turned. What difference_ _can we ever make? W_ _e could never make promises but we could promise_   _to try-_ _to try and make a difference_ _in that building to go down,_

 _in that room filled with ashes, in that hallway filled with memories of dead men,_ _the rest of the apartment was empty._ Dirk was a ghost here as much as he was in the rest of the world. Rose's words still rung in his ears, but a new voice reached him and it formed a cage around his heart and he _knew_.

The child was wrapped in a little bundle and his pale red little eyes were wide. Dirk removed the round shades he had taken to wearing and set them on the infant's face, watched them slip and watched the small fingers close around a newfound toy and turn it over and over.

Dirk Strider returned to his apartment with Dave Strider in his arms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whether or not Rox is lying and they did actually fuck will never be confirmed.
> 
> I suppose that I never clarified that Jake and Dirk were not dating before Jake died!


	8. 3a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here begins the mundane.  
> Lot of dialogue in this one.
> 
>  
> 
> **This has been edited, I've added extra notes.**

Some time had passed. Five years, to be precise; some of the most eventful years Dirk had ever experienced, save SBURB.

Dave pretty much barrelled into the room, latching onto Dirk's leg and swinging around and around as he laughed. This kid was too much energy, Dirk decided rather wearily. He tapped away at his keys - he had to fill in two practically identical orders for these rich bastards overseas. They wanted some of his more simplistic chassis designs.

"Bro, bro, didja know dere was a dead fly on my windowsill and-"

"Please don't tell me you ate it." Dirk grunted.

"Nah, nah! I took its wing off!" The five year old beamed as though he wasn't a serial killer-to-be. "It's so cool!" He stopped swinging, clutched onto Dirk's leg, and added with a grin: "Just like you." Dirk didn't know how he felt about being compared to a decapitated fly.

"You flatter me, lil' man." Dirk lifted a hand from his keys to run it through Dave's short, growing hair and fluffy blond strands. "I'm going out tonight. Got something to pick up from the factory, then I'm hitting up the club." His material suppliers were pretty good, actually.

He honestly didn't need more money, but nevertheless, he still enjoyed going out and spinning records. In some regards, it was his escape from Dave. He also kept going to keep his skills up, and he didn't want a turntable set in the apartment yet. Loud music probably wasn't good for kids.

Dave frowned. "I don't like sitters."

"Got a problem with Mr Venter?" (Mr Venter. He was a human Karkat, wasn't he? Not sure, but damn was his last name ironic. Nonetheless, he was good with kids, Dirk'd give him that.)

"Hah. Nah. He's nice." The little blond boy shook his head. "But I don't like sitters. Don't know them." He repeated, and Dirk heard the silent plea; that Dave wanted his brother, not a stranger, to stay home with him on these long nights while time crackled away in the non-existent fireplace.

Fuck, he looked just like every single Dave ever. Sometimes Dirk just had to leave and get absolutely wasted to keep the thoughts away.

"C'mon bro, please?"

Dirk left anyway.

When he came back at two in the morning, Dave had fallen asleep in front of the television, a shitty scribble of red and orange and black on a piece of paper held in his small hands. Dirk picked up the sleeping boy, gave him a kiss on the forehead (he'd never do that when Dave was awake), and set him down in his own room, nestled in warm blankets of his own home.

\--

The smallest of strifes began at the tender age of five. Dirk would often toss things in Dave's general direction and unsurprisingly, the boy caught whatever projectile it was, be it a spinning pillow or a pencil. He'd tell Dave to race around the apartment, up and down the stairs, and the boy was quick! His glorious Strider genetics were showing.

On his seventh birthday, Dirk gave him a wooden sword, its edge blunted. Dave was pretty damn thrilled about his new present, until Dirk practically hauled the confused kid out the apartment, up the stairs, and onto the roof where the sun was soon setting.

"You're going to need to know how to protect yourself." Dirk said, feeling like a drill sergeant. He himself held a wooden sword too, because he could never be too careful when it came to not hurting Dave.

Dirk held back, duh. Dave would never learn if he was only mercilessly beat into the ground. He told Dave how to grip his sword, keep his centre of balance, and he couldn't help his giant grin as he watched the boy fumble along. He was supposed to be stoic, but he really couldn't help himself.

He started with short sessions, just half an hour a day. But soon enough, Dave came bouncing along with his wooden sword at his side, tugging Dirk's shirt _way too damn early in the morning_ to be taken up and out onto the roof. Honestly, that pleased Dirk more than all of Dave's progress, knowing that Dave did actually enjoy strifing rather than learning simply to please Dirk.

Not that there was ever a doubt, nuh. Of course Dirk wasn't worried if what he was doing actually made Dave happy.

\--

The lady on the pixellated screen was talking about a troll-run city off in the east, how smoke had begun bellowing from their factory chimneys.

Dirk was hardly listening. His mind always seemed to be occupied by damn Dave. These days the kid was nearly always awake when he returned home from his gigs - was the boy getting any sleep at all? More often than not, Dirk realised the twelve year old was still wide awake and staring at the ceiling when he came in to check on his kid at the dead of the night. Dirk had only made references to it in passing: "Yo, you get nightmares?"

"Not often."

He didn't know what was up with that little brain of Dave's. Hyperactive? Insomnia? He would've noticed it years ago if it had been insomnia. He stewed these things over in his mind as he approached Dave's bedroom. It was three in the morning, the kid was probably still awake.

The door swung open without a sound, and Dirk stared at the unmoving mass in the blankets. It lay limp, and when Dirk pulled aside the covers he realised Dave had placed a shirt on the pillow, too. Psht. As though _that'd_ make it seem more human.

Where the fuck was his brother.

Dirk didn't intrude in Dave's bedroom often, not during the day. But now he was in it, he took it as an opportunity to snoop around - and hell, the place looked just like he had expected it to look. As for furniture, it was nothing special. A bed in the far corner, a drawer of clothes, a desk and a chair. There were a couple of petri dishes sitting scattered on the desk (jars were too breakable, Dirk had decided), with dissected dead insects that Dave had collected over the years. There were mostly flies, Dave was enthralled by wings, and the odd lizard or two. A window faced out into the alleyway between two buildings, filling the room with a soft glow and Dirk peered out of it, wondering when Dave gazed up at the sky, what the little boy saw in the clouds.

There was a fire escape half blocking his view. Joy.

Nothing really seemed disturbed, where had Dave disappeared to? Dirk padded out the room, gently closing the door after him. He thought Dave had probably left the apartment entirely, but when Dirk reached the front door, it was locked. Dave's sneakers were still there, even.

Dirk checked the spare key he always left in the kitchen drawer. It was rather suspiciously missing.

Detective Dirk was on the loose and all signs pointed up.

He returned to Dave's room, slid the window open and hoisted himself onto the ledge. For once, he was grateful for his sixteen year old physique. Imagine jamming a thirty year old in there, urgh. He carefully put his foot down. He was going give lil' Dave the shock of his damn life.

Fire escapes had been re-installed after the apartment burning incident several decades ago. Apparently that night, their fire escape had given way, which had led to most of residents in the upper floors burning to death. The shoddy builders were tracked down and, rather unsurprisingly, were trolls.

Dirk was blessed with silent feet. He was the damn god of quiet stepping. He took the steps up, several at a time. The night's chill sent prickles up his skin and he wondered what had possessed Dave to go out stargazing at this time of night. What kind of kid had he raised?

The stairs ended quickly, and he peered over the edge to see a small figure, tucked away by the vents with the moonlight illuminating his form. His hair looked pure white in this light, and Dirk quietly tiptoed across the roof, stopping right beside the boy who was looking away, over the city. Dave was still so small, huddled in an oversized shirt (with pockets? Neat.) and baggy pants and no shoes at all. His lanky little arms were curled around himself. Dirk paused, considering his words.

"Sup?"

Dave jumped about a foot into the air.

"The sky! That's what's up!" He stammered. "And nothing else!"

"The sky's so interesting you have to come up at this hour to look at it?" Dirk turned to observe the vista, and he had to admit it was fairly pretty. Bright lights shone from dark buildings, and the stars seemed dim in the sky. It was as though the city was stealing all the light from the night.

Dave shook his head furiously, stopped mid-shake. "No, I- It doesn't matter."

Dave didn't seem to have anything else on him. No wooden sword, no nothing. Dirk could believe that he came up just to feel the cool breeze and see what was usually caged in a small window or what he only ever saw from the ground. "You want a camera?" Dirk asked nonchalantly, and Dave stared up at him with big wide red eyes through those long lashes, incredulous. His shades were on the ground beside him.

"No! I mean- Yes! Yeah. Yep. That'd be cool." Dirk laughed at the kid's stammering. He'd probably just amp up the strifing as payment for the camera. Push him a little harder when chasing him to school... it'd work. Dave would definitely like a camera.

All the other Daves had always liked photography.

"Better tell me next time you decide to go out for a stroll." Dirk warned Dave. It was dangerous out. Well, trolls had been evicted from the city, but crime rates were still high. Partly the reason why Dirk 'walked' Dave to school every morning.

"You never tell me when _you're_ gone." Dave retorted, narrowing his eyes and drawing his knees closer to his chest.

His kid was becoming rebellious already. Dirk ran a hand through his hair, knowing that 'you're a child' wouldn't justify. "Alright, a'right, I'll leave a note on the fridge if I'm gone, okay?"

Dave seemed to deflate, as though surprised Dirk had put up so little of a fight. Dirk was normally far more stubborn. "Yeah, okay."

Dirk squatted down next to the boy, took his hand like the good serious guardian he was (it was ironic, okay?). Dave, in the meantime, shook his captured hand in attempt to break free. "Tell me. Why you up here?"

Dave paused in his efforts. "I just want to see the city at night." He said with a nervous swallow, staring at his knees.

"Lying ain't a good thing to do to your brother, Dave."

"I'm not lying."

"Look me in the eyes and say that again, lil' man." Dirk took off his shades, stared at Dave until the boy turned his head to meet his brother's gaze.

"The nightmares get really bad." Dave blurted. He promptly then hid his face in his hands, and so his voice was muffled. "It's stupid- yeah, I know, it's okay, I wasn't planning to come up here again, it's okay, I'll go to sleep, I swear, don't even worry about it I'll be sleeping like sleeping beauty 'cept without the dress 'cause I ain't a girl, I'll be out like a light, don't you even worry bro, I'll be so out I'll be out of the apartment in the sky with how out I am-"

"Want to hear a story?"

"Out like out in outer space, the most outer outer spac- what?" Dave looked up at his brother.

"A story." Dirk repeated, sitting down next to Dave and staring up at the sky. The stars really were dull. Light pollution, huh.

"I hate you." Dave said, half-heartedly punching Dirk's arm.

"Nightmares aren't childish things." Dirk snorted. "Neither are stories."

"I don't need a bedtime fairy tale," Dave responded dryly. "but thanks for the offer, bro. You really make me feel better about myself."

"Once, there was a kid called Dave-"

"I'm not six, thanks."

"He was thirteen, and so was his best friend, John, Rose and Jade." Dirk was deadly serious. He turned his shades over and over in his hands and looked at the sky instead of Dave and let the words flow.

Dave paused, and gave Dirk a deeply suspicious glare. (Did Dave dream about John? Dirk thought he probably did. At least, some of the names would've rung some bells.)

"Likewise were his friends, Jade and Rose. They decided, like giant fools, to play this game called SBURB. SBURB was a unique game. Unique in that the prize for winning was the creation of a new universe."

"When could you bullshit so smoothly, what the hell?" Dave slid a little closer to Dirk to hear him clearer. Dirk had always been a mumbler.

"Upon entry into this game, they each threw in one random thing that would contribute to the enemy."

"What sort of bad story is this." Dave grumbled, "Not even any dragons." But Dirk noticed Dave was rather comfortably nestled by his side.

"Each universe had an omniscient guardian, and those four, known as the beta kids, fucked up by putting their guardian as the contribution. So their enemy pretty much became invincible." Dirk was surprised his voice was so steady.

"What the hell, those are pretty stupid kids. Except the Dave guy." Dave really couldn't stop with his commentary, but it made Dirk feel better.

"It screwed things up big time, made an impossible to beat boss. It merged those four's session with another group of kid's session."

"What was the Dave's last name? Strider? You're so unoriginal with names, I mean: _John._ "

"The lot of them scrapped that game, scratched it like how you would a record, and they created an alternate universe known as the alpha verse where maybe they could start over."

"That actually sounds reasonable. Somehow. Making an alternate universe is the most plausible out of the crap you've just said?"

"In the alternate universe, there was a boy named Dirk." He found his voice quietening, remembering the endless sea and the everyday terror.

Dave fell silent.

"Jake, Roxy, and Jane. In the beta verse, they had been the beta kid's parents. Brothers. In the alpha, the beta kids had been _their_ guardians. Long story short, all of them combined managed to beat the game, and there you have it." Dirk swept a hand across the view, the city, and the stars in the sky. "That's how the world came to be."

"What sort of weird legend did you get this from and whose names did you replace with ours?"

Dirk laughed. It, surprisingly, wasn't bitter. "You'll find out one day."

\--

The next night, Dirk wasn't surprised to see that Dave was missing from his bed at three in the morning. He was even less surprised when he scanned the room and found a small sticky-note taped to the wall, reading: "Roof." He climbed the stairs with the same silence as usual, standing behind Dave for a full minute before very, very, calmly saying: "Boo."

Yet again, Dave's ass left the roof.

"Holy shit," He turned to glare at his brother. "you don't have to give me a heart attack every time."

"Language." Dirk remarked off-handedly, settling down next to his kid, brother, whatever. Adopted family. "You're losing a hell lot of sleep, don't you have school in about four hours?"

Dave shrugged. "I've done my homework, if that's what you're worried about."

"You're growing, you need sleep."

"I get all my sleep in class. The teachers are pretty boring."

"If your grades aren't ironically straight A's, guess whose ass is going to be served on a platter."

"Nice threat, bro. Last time I remember, you tossed my report straight into the trash."

Dirk snorted. Yeah, even he recalled that. "I'll be checking them now I know you sleep right through class."

"You're never happy, are you?"

"Yep, never pleased." He said, sticking a hand in Dave's hair and ruffling. "You need to grow, my little man. You're tiny."

Dave gave Dirk a frown, and scanned his brother up and down. "How about you?"

"Hm?" Dirk paused mid-ruffle. He knew the question'd be coming.

"You've like always been sixteen."

"I use makeup. That's how my face is baby smooth." He said flatly. His eyes were hidden behind his shades. He knew he'd need them for these 'story nights'.

"I-" Dave's frown intensified. "Are you serious?"

"No." He deadpanned.

Dave was so confused, he was hilarious. Dave was hilarious. Dirk just wanted to sweep Dave up in his arms and swing him around and around like how fake-Dream-Dave had. He wanted to laugh, but then he'd crumple once the high was over because he'd remember that none of them would ever come back.

"Time doesn't touch me, I'm a god." Dirk grinned, but Dave did not smile alongside him.

"Nah, bet it does. I'll prove it one day when you're a hairy old man."

"But I'll never be hairy. I'll shave my every inch, including my balls-"

"Don't need to know about that!" Dave shoved at Dirk, laughing. "Go away, stinky old dude."

"But don't you want your bed time storrry?" Dirk smirked back, capturing Dave in a headlock. The little boy mock-struggled.

"Let go of me, this is assault, this man is unwillingly dragging me into story time-"

"Let me tell you kid, let me say, this Dave Strider guy," Dirk swung his arm (and Dave, who was protesting furiously) for extra measure. "he loved collecting dead bugs. He liked photography too, but no one really knew except his way too damn cool older bro, who saw pictures hanging from clotheslines in his room."

"You're so unoriginal, it's killing me." Dave had stopped struggling, instead resting his head on Dirk's chest, looking up at the stars. The boy was warm, a nice little anchor to keep Dirk's sanity held firmly in place. They didn't often get this close with one another, it was a nice change. Honestly, Dave was really all he lived for now. There was nothing else that changed in life: Dirk only left the apartment to pick up materials or stop at clubs. He hadn't even visited the park since he'd been hung.

"The two Striders in that Beta verse, they were cool. They were the absolute manifestation of cool and damn, people looked at them and just saw Antarctica reflected in their forms, polar bears and shit-"

"Polar bears live in the Arctic. They are entire poles apart how do people get it mixed up."

Dirk plainly ignored Dave. "The older, Bro, liked to keep his lil' brother on his toes. Traps all around the apartment, puppets that'd scare the living crap outta Dave, it was a daily occurrence."

"Are these stories actually your secret dreams? Don't you have a thing for puppets?" Dirk shushed Dave, and continued with his tale.

"Hardly ever said a word, Dave barely knew if Bro cared for him at all." Dave opened his mouth to speak. Dirk clamped a hand over Dave's rude mouth. "'Course, he could've been a liability, a little brother that Bro felt family obligation to; or he could've been the light of Bro's life - he didn't know. Dave didn't know Bro hadn't a second thought when he went and cut open an entire meteor to buy lil' Dave time. Dave didn't know anything, _never_ would know anything, because before he could even fathom that his brother could've cared the world and back, Bro was dead. Pierced by his own sword, no less." Dirk gave a bitter laugh, stared down at his own hands. "Of course Bro died fighting for his little brother." Dave's wide eyes stared back at him from where he was resting. "Wouldn't have done it for anybody else in the world."

"And the other kids?" Dave asked, voice hushed.

"Their parents died too. John, he learnt his father wasn't this giant goofball, but rather a normal man living a normal life. Rose, she raged wars on her mother, never knew whether or not her genius of a parent ever actually cared either. Jade, her grandpa was long gone before the game even started. The alpha verse, the scratching of their old universe and meeting their guardians as kids, I suppose you could've called it a relief."

"Huh? Leaving everything you've known behind? A relief?"

"I would've been like coming home. In the alpha verse, it was switched around. _Dirk_ 's older bro was called Dave, and that Dave had long vanished somewhere off into the sunset. Dirk waited a long time for him, you know."

"You said he was only thirteen years old."

"Thirteen years with yourself and the sea is a long time.1" Thank the lord for his shades. Dirk didn't know what he would do if Dave could see his eyes right then.

Dave paused: "I've never seen the sea."

"It's grand, sprawling into the horizon and every morning you'd wake to the sound of waves crashing on metal struts, every morning you'd wake to see the lights flickering on the water. But ultimately, the sea's nothing but emptiness to a lone man."

"It sounds cool though, I'd like to go."

"Dirk," Dave sniggered at the name. "spent his every day looking out at that endless sea, where this evil Empress lady reigned the skies and constantly sent drones to scour the earth. He waited everyday for his brother to come home."

Dave rolled his eyes. "And here's the dramatic point in the fairytale where, on a shining unicorn, 'Dave' comes galloping and carrying evil overlord lady's head on a pike?"

Dirk remembered his own dismembered head. "See, Dirk remembered Dave as a great man: this guy that stood against all authority with his cool damn attitude and relentless streak, Dave was immortalised in Dirk's memory." _A pity he was not immortalised elsewhere._ "Dave didn't come galloping in. Instead, Dirk met the boy called Dave from another universe, who was nothing that he had envisioned his brother. Dave, lanky-" He poked Dave for good measure, and the kid grunted in protest.

"This entire story was a giant freaking set up for telling me to grow, huh."

Dirk snorted at Dave's comment. God - the kid was really the only thing keeping him from completely folding in on himself right then. He was glad they could keep this relaxed atmosphere. "Dave was no hero, he was a boy that screwed up his own universe and he wasn't a man who went and faced the world head on. On the other hand, Dirk was no hero, either. He wasn't this lightning-quick elusive man that kept his emotions hidden at all times. Neither of them lived up to each other's expectations."

Dave was silent, Dirk strongly suspected the boy was going to fall asleep soon.

"At first, they thought they could be replacements for each other's guardians, but Dirk and Bro, Dave and Bro, they weren't the same people. Nonetheless, they came to be brothers anyway."

"Striders stick together." Dave mumbled.

"Damn right they do, and it's really a pity that Dave-" Dirk paused, regathered himself. "That Dave died before they could finish the game."

"Hm? Who else died?"

"You really only care about dead things, don't you?"

"Yeah, well, dead things are interesting. Answer the question."

"They all died." Keep your face blank, Dirk, keep it all blank.

-No one ever died, it's all fine. This is the end, the end of the line, go to your new-found long-lost friends. At day you'll lie, by night you'll cry, it's all fine. _No one ever died,_ go lie to your friends-

"How'd they win, then?" Dave asked, startling Dirk out of his internal mantra.

"I don't know." Dirk donned a smirk. "Haven't thought of that bit yet."

"Lameeeeee." Dave whined, spread his arms. "I'm tired. Take me to bed."

"Just because I'm telling you stories doesn't mean you get permission to demand things like a five year old."

"I always have permission to demand from you."

"Yeah, and you'll never get those demands answered. Move that rump yourself."

"Nahhhh." Dave said, curling up closer to Dirk. "Think I'll sleep here."

Dirk scowled, elbowed Dave in the gut and _what had he just elbowed it was damn pointy._

Dave's guilty look conveyed tonnes.

"What the hell is in that shirt pocket of yours."

Dave carefully drew out a small white rectangle with a green flashing light. "Recorder." He flicked a button near the top, and the light went out. "I thought, y'know... yeah." He trailed off, mumbling.

"So this was why you were so eager to come up tonight, huh?"

"No! No no no nuh nah, I thought maybe, you know, it would've like made a really ironic present some years in the future, when you're getting old and," Dave considered, and then added rather lamely: "yeah. Thought it would've been ironic."

Dirk laughed, god to honest laughed, laughed at the city that rose from the concrete around him and then he said to Dave: "Go ahead and record away. I'm going to keep going old man Dirk storyteller on you and you're free to record all of that."

Dave pretty much beamed, and then narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "What, did you think I'd be recording it and sending it off to other people?"

"What else?"

"For all those robots you make, you're pretty stupid." Dave said, giving Dirk a punch. "You're mine, I'll never send anybody else our damn bro bonding time clips." He them harrumphed and curled up in a ball, pretending to sleep.

It took ten minutes for Dave to finally, actually, begin to dream, and Dirk would've felt too molesting if he had shifted around in Dave's pockets for the spare key, so he ended up climbing back through the window, a snoring Dave Strider in his arms.

He had never been so content in his life.

 

**Extra notes:**

1 An excerpt of Dirk's thirteen years of silence.

\--

When he learns that he is truly alone, that he will never meet the only man he has ever had, he cannot even curse the world. He can only scream and cry like an animal _._ He is unwanted, left in a circus cage to rot, fur matted and feral, but eyes still human enough to weep. He has never been more alone.

\--

He locks the medication cupboard at the age of ten because he no longer trusts himself around it.

\--

Watching stars dance has never been more captivating than on these endless nights. Who sets these lights in the sky? Who sculpts the waves in the oceans and who in the wide world has tied it all together with strings that curl around his limbs and jerk him mindlessly like a puppet?

His sword lies to the side and his skin sheens. He pretends that he trains for a life worth living. 

Perhaps this is what his enemy feels like. Although she can still laugh and although her mind is dark, they are both alone. But his friends are his driving force. Their deaths are hers.

Dirk is thirteen and he cannot speak a word. 

(Somewhere else in the world, someone is pierced by a sword and dies in an instant (his name is Dirk, too). He dies, and his death is swept away by the fates who keep marching on. Somewhere else, a boy can hardly bear to look at his broken guardian.  

Only that young boy will remember his brother and their every moment they spent together.)

\--

Some time else, somewhere else, another man (Bro- " _Dave!"_ ) dies in the exact same manner, at the feet of the shark-toothed dictator.

Only one boy will wish that they had seen the universe together. For now he can only watch the starlit night and wish that another pair of eyes lived under this darkened sky. 

Maybe they could’ve watched these seagulls tuck their heads under their wings, and together whispered themselves to sleep. Maybe they could’ve cradled each other under the moonlight and hoped, hoped that the next day they could sit together and watch the waking of dawn. Maybe they could’ve held each other and wished for salvation. 

Maybe, right now, a very lonely boy would not have tears in his eyes as he watches a seagull snuggle up to its family. He will never have someone else.

\--

The sea has never been so, so wide and the world has never been so, so, empty. Each day is a step closer to death and each day is a step further from birth. Life is long and gruelling and lonely. 

Dirk is thirteen and he cannot speak a word to his friends when they meet for the first time.

Dirk can only hiss whenever he is hurt and he can only talk through a million small little squares that mean nothing at all. He can only cry when he looks at the stars. He can only cry when he is hidden behind his shades.

He learns that his enemy still wants to save her own race. She is- She is lonelier than him. He has his friends. When his shaded eyes stare up at the coloured skies, he begins to cry for her too. He cries for them all because they will never have what they love. 

\--

Dirk has met his brother and he cannot speak a word. Neither of them say anything.

Maybe if he had a voice, he could tell his brother that he’s never missed anybody more in any of the thousand worlds. 


	9. 3b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a break during the Easter. Long-ish chapter as compensation.  
> Twelve was an interesting year for Dave, huh.

Dirk had built a robot. Several, in fact. But this one he had fine-tuned a thousand times and more to make sure it was damn bloody perfect. It’d be strifing against Dave, after all. The kid, yet twelve, needed to battle against an opponent he could actually beat (not that Dirk was egotistical, simply realistic (((who was he kidding))).

He had built it to be an almost exact replica of Dave. Well, size-wise. Nothing could really match Dave aesthetically- that boy was in a league of his own (or perhaps that was Dirk’s pride talking, he wasn’t really sure). Either way, he didn’t think it a sin to indulge in the fact that the little kid he raised, the little kid that called him brother, was damn gorgeous. In the apartment, they had a tradition of leaving their shades off, sitting side by side on the kitchen counter as they lounged around on the couch or in their respective rooms, and that meant Dirk could see Dave’s bright eyes big and clear. (Though at night, for the ’story times’, Dirk would put on his shades because he really, really could not keep up that poker face he thought he had perfected). Dirk imagined that, if Dave went to school with his shades off, he’d draw double takes from more than a few people, and not for his beauty. For now, only Dirk appreciated the piece of art that was his brother.

Sometimes, Dirk figured he needed to add more challenge into Dave’s life. Dirk would chase Dave to school, grinning widely as they raced down streets, vaulting over fences and barriers with Dave laughing all the while. He did it for two reasons really. The first, because he didn’t want his little twelve year old brother walking alone down the early morning streets filled with strangers with knives in their pockets after their one-night stands (Dirk didn’t care to drive, either). The second was that he wanted to keep Dave fast and nimble, and they didn’t have too much space in the apartment to go running around everywhere. 

So he built a strifing bot. All controls for the bot rested in his shades, of course, and he’d be spectating most of Dave’s strifes with the bot. He stood back and admired its metal form, (mentally compared it to Dave, and felt that his work paled in comparison). It wasn’t particularly sturdy, Dirk had leant it towards speed. Just like Dave. (Although he doubted the thing was quite as quick as his boy). It would, however, have some of Dirk’s skill and that’d probably be enough. He wanted it to challenge Dave, but not whip him mercilessly into the ground. 

Time to put this baby into testing.

Dirk picked it up, walked out the apartment, and bounded up the stairs to the roof. Leap, leap, leap. He had left the door unlocked and that had probably been an unsafe decision. Leap, leap, open the door to the roof-Fuck, that sunlight was bright, even with his shades. How was it nearing evening? He couldn’t leave it ’til later, who knew how long Dave’d spend fighting his bot. Down the stairs, bounce, bounce. His sneakers hit the landing and then he was already clearing the next entire flight in one large jump. The apartment door… was still closed. Good. Didn’t look like anyone had broken in yet.

“Yo, Dave!” He called, just for good measure. Dirk took large strides across the living room, heading towards Dave’s bedroom.

“Yeah?” Good. Dave still alive, check.

Dirk pretty much threw open the door and caught it just before it slammed. They didn’t have locks on anything besides the bathroom, who needed privacy? It wasn’t as though Dirk tended to jack off anymore, he’d stopped doing that because, well.

Jake. 

Didn’t want to think about him, because every time, without fail, it hurt like heartbreak all over again. He couldn’t even bring himself to hate Jane.

Dave was at his laptop, the little nerd. Apparently he had friends online. _Friends_. What were _friends_?

The kid's room was in disarray, as per norm. The bed had its blankets piled into the corner, clothes were lying left right and centre (Dirk swore Dave didn’t even have that many shirts, where had these million cloned themselves from?), but the jars on the shelves were arranged with neat precision. “Roof."

“What.” Dave asked, shrugging off his headphones and tilting back in his chair to stare up at Dirk’s blank face. “It’s like four o’clock. Do you see how bright it is? This baby butt skin of mine is going to crisp.”

“Figured you didn’t want to strife until midnight.” 

“What.” Dave repeated. “No. What- You really planning to keep me up there for that long?”

“It’s Saturday. Get going.”

Dave gave an indignant splutter but Dirk had flash stepped out of there, already out of the apartment and was once again springing up the stairs. From his shades, he quickly powered up the bot and saw its feedback running along in orange text. Everything was set up and functioning fine, all he needed now was a Dave to get this show on the road. The roof, as usual, was blinding, and the bot stood in the centre, absently thrumming as it waited for Dave. It held no sword (he didn’t want it accidentally scarring a young Dave, or decapitating itself) and Dirk was planning to have it just "gently" (punch the lights out of), constantly, tap Dave in the stomach or legs and he thought it was a little like fencing. With fists. It’s main purpose here, today, was to keep dodging and dodging and training Dave’s stamina. Or something like that.

Dirk heard Dave drag himself up onto the roof and turned around, grinned at his little brother. “Your new opponent.” The robot was still on standby, but its camera lenses for eyes were already tracking Dave’s every move.

“It looks like me.” Dave noted with a hint of amusement. There was even pale, silky blonde _hair_ on the bot. Where Dirk had gotten it from, Dave had no idea. The rest of the bot was nothing but steel, with interlocking plates that slid smoothly over one another as it shifted from foot to foot.

“Yeah, I’m trying to have you stamp out your inner narcism.” Dirk drawled, settling back by his place beside the vents in preparation for the show that was to begin.

“How is it stopping narcism if it’s supposed to keep me up here for ten hours? Doesn’t that mean it’s good, that I’m good?”

“Because you’ll hate it by then.” Dirk smirked, and then told the bot to run.

Thus began the entertainment for the night.

Dave immediately dodged the bot’s first swipe, darting back and back as he held his sword before him. Dave was wearing his shades, had taken them because he only ever took them off in the apartment. And because the sun was relentless. The bot swiped another metal hand, and when it missed it spun to come 'round again.

Dirk felt like he had created a spinning top, oh my god.

The bot, unlike a normal human, slammed a foot down onto the ground (oh shit, was he going to get fined for property damage?) and came to an immediate halt. It swept a leg forwards instead and Dave went down, rolled and sprung back onto his feet. His brother was treading cautiously around the whirling metal combatant, giving little jabs now and then to test its defences. The bot was fast, but weak.

It was a strange dance, where man fought metal and man always retreated, always tired. Perspiration beaded his forehead, his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. The bot moved in flashes of steel, where sometimes it caught the light and reflected just so in Dirk's eyes.

Dave wasn't making any progress. He just kept throwing himself at his enemy, quick little strikes that he always loved using. Dave always just tried to peek under everybody's defences. Chip them away little by little.

Like a bird at a statue.

Like Dirk at the world.

The bot, dirty player it was, stomped on Dave's foot and this time the boy couldn't bounce back up for he was pinned to the ground. Dave struggled, swung his sword a little wildly and so of course, it just glanced off the bot's smooth body.

It then punched Dave. In the face. Hard enough that Dave saw blinding white for a brief second.

Dirk didn't shut it down.

"What the fuck?!" Dave practically screamed. Dirk would rough him up sometimes in strifing sessions, but he'd never go far enough to knock out his brother, so it was a new experience for the kid.

"Stop complaining, keep fighting." Dirk barked from his comfortable position by the vents.

Dave was thrashing on the ground with absolutely no control at all, and the bot had no trouble with landing more hits. 

His confidence was waning. His hope was probably dropping fast, too. Hell - Dirk had to be the steadfast one here. If Dave couldn't find the will in himself, Dirk would have to lend a hand. That was what he was there for, anyway. Older bro duties, heh.

Dirk really shouldn't have expected much. "Do you lose your head as soon as you get a lil' hurt?" He called from his spectator position. "Keep your cool. You still have your sword on you."

Dave managed a lucky swing, and his sword caught the bot smack in the torso and sent it staggering. See, that was what Dave needed to do. Swing. Big strikes, at the wires, joints, places that you could aim for on humans if you didn't want to straight out kill them.

Dirk didn't want to raise a murderer. 

He didn't want Dave too used to fighting a robot, either. Desensitisation or something.

The kid managed to scramble to his feet and face the bot anew. This time his stance was a little more steady, but Dirk saw a hint of blood in his hair. Yup. Dirk would go full out big brother on this shit later and wrap Dave up like a little mummy. Or a porcelain doll.

Dave here was getting hurt in a controlled environment. If push came to shove, Dirk could always shut the bot down and scoop the child up into his arms. Unlike if he were outside, trying to fend off bandits or gangs. No one would save him then. And if he flailed like how he was currently, long limbs a whirlwind of mess...

A sword clattered to the rooftop and Dave went skidding and tumbling. The bot hurtled after him, pinning him to the floor and raising a fist to pummel.  _This was so painful to watch_. Dave rolled backwards, his heels over his head, and then lunged forwards to sock the bot in the jaw. Dirk, in the meantime, kept reading that feed that scrolled past his shades. That nice punch of Dave's had busted a few wires, but not nearly enough.

It looked as though the tides were beginning to even.

Dirk settled in for a long night.

\--

By the time the sun set, the robot was a pile of scrap.

Dirk had never been so joyed to see one of his creations destroyed. Dave practically crumpled after his final blow, letting his sword clatter to the ground as Dirk rose from his spectator seat. The robot was this lovely heap of metal. Dave looked exactly the same, his legs folded beneath him and chest heaving. Dirk's footsteps were loud in the sudden absence of clashing steel, and he stooped to pick his brother up from his newfound concrete bed. The sword was left discarded and dented on the roof.

Dave's eyelids fluttered, open. Good. Not unconscious yet. Dirk looked down through his shades at the weary red that stared back. "M'sword?" The kid mumbled. His lip was bleeding.

"Replaceable." Was Dirk's curt answer, making his way down the stairs one at a time. Now he had the issue of juggling Dave in one arm and searching his pockets for the keys with the other. Ugh. How had he failed to plan ahead. Dirk clutched onto Dave mindlessly, searching in his pockets. He swore the things carried entire continents in them or something. They were like women's handbags, defying all laws of space-

"Are you disappointed in me?" Dave abruptly asked, and Dirk was startled out of his key-searching reverie. He knew he pushed Dave hard but - this hard?

"Nah. You did good, kid." As soon as the words left his lips, he saw all the tension drain out of Dave's shoulders and limbs. His brother became this limp puppet hanging on his arm at the praise. Huh. Well, Dirk didn't often give praise. The regularity of which it was delivered, he decided, would help determine its worth. He wanted his 'good jobs' to be pretty damn important. 

"But you would've stopped it, right?" Dave asked. 

"Hm?" Ah, the keys. Glorious. He held the ironic pink keychain between his teeth as he shifted Dave's weight back onto both arms. 

"It would really knock me out."

Dirk nearly stopped walking down the steps. Dave was surprising him today, apparently. He felt like he should've done an old man sigh, waved a cane, and complained about children growing up too fast. "Yup."

"Oh."

"Ain't nobody out there gonna stop punching you when you close your eyes." Dave opened his mouth to retort, but as usual, Dirk cut him off. "So least of all, be prepared for it."

Dave was frowning, and the tension was beginning to grow again in his muscles. Dirk wondered what the hell he was doing wrong.

Probably everything.

Yup, everything.

\--

Dirk was doing a parent thing.

He was at a parent-teacher interview.

Holy shiiit, inform the news. Dirk is doing something parental. 

Yeah, real funny. He'd been turning up to parent teacher nights for years now. Only this time, something was a little different. He couldn't just sit there and mindlessly nod at the praise that spewed from some 'educated' chick's mouth. This time, they actually had a complaint.

Bothersome.

Dirk had just pulled out the chair, introduced himself, shook this lady's hand, blah blah. And just the look on her face told him that she was going to say something patronising. 

"I am Miss Auburn. So, your... son." She frowned a little. Hah. Right, his age.

"Adopted." He offered simply. (Was adoption here even legal at this age?)

She looked somewhat disapproving. It was probably the shades. The shades, yet a suit and articulate tongue. Oh, was he going to fuck with this lady.

Not like that. Really, really, not like that. He didn't even like ladies. As bed partners.

"As his homeroom teacher, I've noticed that sometimes Dave causes disturbances in the class." Dirk simply nodded at her to continue. He was never a man of many words, anyway. She leaned forward, putting on her 'I'm super serious tone'. Hah. "And when I say disturbances, I don't mean the typical noisy child. I mean that he says some wildly inappropriate things."

Dirk was totally going to go home and throw a party. An ironic, cool, party which involved him keeping his cool and definitely, definitely not skipping around the room whilst telling Dave that he was a man now. Making dick jokes and being blunt was part of the Strider culture, it was.

"For example," She laced her hands together, tilted her head, and did this sort of frown thing with her mouth. It was more a  _judging_ look. Where she widened her eyes slightly, blinked deliberately, and set her mouth in this neat, long line. "he attempts to convince the other students that some  _trolls_ could be passive. Friendly."

His enthusiasm for a dick party suddenly flipped into a rather strong urge to punch Miss Auburn in the face. No wonder she was unmarried. Well, so was he. Whatever. He wasn't looking for a partner. _  
_

She stared at him, he stared back. He had the fucking shades, of course he won. She let out a sigh.

"As you can see." She began firmly. "As his guardian, you must amend this behaviour immediately."

"I don't see the issue here." Dirk said.

Like he thought before: he was going to screw with this lady. Fuck her. She better lay her judgemental claws off his little brother.

She stared at him incredulously, and when she spoke, she sort of shook her head. Condescendingly. "Your boy." She had her speaking to a dumbass voice on. "Is under the impression that trolls can be befriended."

"And they can't?"

Last straw. It was so satisfying.

"Twelve year old Dave Strider had the nerve to show his classmates this  _chat_ application where they could talk to trolls! Where he, allegedly, had _friends. Who were trolls!_ " She practically spat it at him. Other teachers were turning their heads. Oh, he'd give them a spectacle to behold.

"And you expect me to stop him talking to his friends?"

"What he's doing is dangerous. Can't you see?" She had this habit of opening her eyes wider and attempting to look innocent. "One day he's going to go meet those beasts, or see them on the streets, and he'll have some false opinion and it'll end badly."

"My son." His brother? Saying son felt strange, but Dirk still definitely regarded this Dave as his son. "Is no fool." 

"Okay, it's not that I doubt your _son's_ decision-making ability." No, she definitely did. "It's the influence he's attempting to put on the other children of the class." Yeah, sure. Don't insult my child, insult other's children. That'll certainly help place my faith in your nice hands. "They might not understand as well. Look. He's confusing them. In fact, he's convincing them that some trolls aren't a threat!"

"Some aren't."

She gave such an offended look. "Another thing, I should add, that he is attempting to force on the other kids is that they should become... homosexual." Dirk should've received all the gold stars in the world for not bursting into laughter. "Just like him."

He stopped wanting to laugh. Instead, he felt like he had just been plunged into ice cold water. Dave? Gay?  _And he had never told Dirk?_

Queen bitch smiled and Dirk quickly recovered from his shock. "He's even had a boyfriend in his class before. Mr Strider, I really don't think that you're keeping a tight enough rein on your child."

"Rein?" He calmly raised an eyebrow.  _  
_

"Homosexuality, befriending trolls..." She shook her head.

"There's no issue with those things."

"Ah, no wonder you adopted." He was _this_ close to punching her. He was gonna get this lady fired. "If you choose to raise your child with those beliefs, certainly. Just don't make him enforce it on the other children."

The thing about Dirk was that he grew up in the middle of the sea with not even the hint of a 'proper teacher' or 'education'. He had the shit-talking rights, because he wasn't ignorant, he knew he was considered a genius. He didn't need an 'education' to be smart. "And, I wonder, what does your career consist of? _Enforcing opinions on children?_ " 

The bomb was dropped. The bomb. Was dropped.

"What did you say to me?!" She screeched, slamming her hands on the table. Other people were looking at them in surprise. 

"Society will not restrain _my_ child." He said, tilting his chair back on two legs just to mock her. (Normally he would've said "Society ain't gonna chain my kid") But yeah, he was a giant raging asshole. Screw this lady. He was a man in a suit, literate. Yet at the same time, defying the norm with these pointed sunglasses indoors and now chair leaning.

The five minute bell went off, and he smiled. It was more a baring of teeth, really. 

"Rest assured nothing will change, Miss Auburn."

\--

The thing was, Dave often invited his friends to their apartment. It just was that Dirk never used to care. Whatever, let the boys bounce around the place, it would be fine. Dave had a good choice in people. It wasn't as though his classmate would suddenly turn around and shank him in the face with a pocket knife.

Today, however, Dirk was watching. Dave, gay? Dave had an ex-boyfriend? What the fuck? After the interview, Dirk had felt utterly incompetent as a brother. He had also felt boiling rage towards the bitch teacher.

Dave walked in the door with another teen behind him, and Dirk's brain short-circuited. In fact, he stopped breathing at all.

Was that... Jake?

_\- dead, pierced through the chest,_

_dead, in a white bed_

_dead_

_dead_

_dead_

_dying-_

"Hello!" He beamed. Two ridiculous buck teeth. "You must be Dave's guardian! A pleasure to meet you, I am Jacob!" 

He outstretched a hand, and Dirk hesitated. Now he was over the initial shock, it seemed as though, in reality, this boy in front of him could well be either Jake or John. There were certainly similarities, but those eyes... were brown.

Dirk took the offered hand and shook. He saw Dave, over the grinning black-haired man's shoulder, and his brother was giving him a suspicious glare. Dave had taken off his shades. Dirk had kept them on today.

Well. This was Dave's ex-boyfriend, then. That made the situation a thousand times worse. Jealousy flared up inside him, because  _Dave had dared to take his shades off._ Dave had  _dated_ this person.

Dirk was very ticked off, and not at the boy shaking his hand.

As Dave and the not-John-or-Jake sat on the couch ( _that couch is mother-fucking his_ ) and played video games, Dirk sat at the kitchen counter working on his laptop (discreetly observing them).

That was a lie. He was glaring at Dave like he could sear a hole through his head. 

Occasionally, he'd see Jake's old grin resurface whenever he beat Dave, or when their elbows brushed and they'd share smiles. It wasn't one of _those_ breakups, then, huh? Or maybe this non-Jake was Dave's new boyfriend. New crush. Dirk should've kept watch. He should've... should've watched what? Done what? Prevented Dave from getting a boyfriend who looked like Jake?

His hands stilled on his keys, and instead of typing, they clenched into fists. 

Fuuuuuck.

Dirk sat there and cock-blocked the entire evening, sidling up inbetween them or constantly drawing not-Jake's precious attention away from Dave. By the time the black-haired boy had left, Dave was pretty damn furious.

"So what was that about just then, huh?" Dave spun around to face Dirk, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed.

Dirk, sitting innocently on the sofa, looked up at him and said nothing. By now, his hands were still, his composure regained. His shades sat neatly on his nose bridge.

"You've never cared about who I bring, why today?" Dave hissed, stepping closer to Dirk. He had grown a lot taller in this time; Dirk realised that only now, when Dave was towering over him. "Are you trying to act like a proper brother now? Or are you  _just being a fucking jealous dick?!_ "

Again, Dirk said nothing. Dave released his breath through his teeth in a hiss, turning away. "I'll forgive you this time." He said, beginning to stomp away.

"I forgive you." Dirk said, quietly.

"Forgive  _me? You?_ " Dave laughed, but immediately fell silent when Dirk spoke up.

"For not telling me you were gay." Dirk said casually. "I can excuse that, considering I've never taken anyone home, and you sure as hell wouldn't want to displease your brother because you don't know what  _he_ approves of. Hell, don't tell him anything at all, actually. I'm sure it'll be fine." _  
_

Dave stared. "So you're angry that your twelve year old kid didn't tell you about his love life?" He sneered. "That's pretty pathetic,  _dad._ "

"I'm angry?" He tilted his head back with a small raise of the eyebrow. "Nah, I just went to scout out your new boy and he didn't pass my standards."

"Well I'm  _sorry_ ,  _bro_ , but do I look like I care?"

"Yeah, you do." Why else would Dave be standing there arguing with him right now?

A long pause.

"Fuck you." 

"Just don't take him over." Dirk finally said, careful to keep that _pain_ from seeping into his voice. "I don't care who you see, as long as they don't hurt you. But if you two sit your asses on this couch, I really can't resist."

"You're a dick."

"That I am." Dirk said, amusedly. "But you like dicks, don't you?"

"I'm bisexual, Dirk."

"Point stands. You still like dicks."

Dave snorted, and started for his room. "I still hate you." He said, but it sounded more obligatory than sincere. 

\--

Dave was still thirteen when it happened. Dirk was on the sofa, laptop on his legs and headphones on his ears. Filling orders, as usual. He did more robotics than smuppets. Smuppets brought bad memories, and he didn't think it'd too much of a healthy influence on Dave. Sex toys. A young child. Oh god, that was just too morally reprehensible for even him. Although his alternate self, Bro, raised a young Dave with the puppets, Dirk wasn't going to. He just, no. Imagine a little infant picking up and sucking on something that was, although washed, going to go up a stranger's ass, or around a stranger's dick.

That was like a thousand levels of no. Dirk banished all thoughts of Dave in relation to smuppets from his mind. 

Dave was running late. When Dirk first glanced up at the clock, school had already been over half an our ago. Dave usually took only ten or so minutes to walk. Less.

That grew to be an hour.

And another half.

He was just prepared to go kick down the apartment door and storm the streets. He was going to whip out his katana, demanding from random people the sight of a little blond boy in shades. He was going to install a tracker chip _IN DAVE'S PANTS_ when he found the kid. 

But if somehow one day Dave lost his pants...

No.

Even more levels of no than an infant with smuppets. 

He was about to kick down the door when it opened, and there was Dave. No blood, no injuries, just looking tired and haggard.

Dirk pretended that he wasn't just about to go and raze the entire city down while Dave just walked in. No explanations at all. Took off his shoes and went to his room. His head was hung low, and he didn't even remove his shades.

Dirk waited five minutes.

Ten.

Half an hour.

His bro was really testing his patience today. Finally, he relented and walked up to Dave's bedroom. Gently, quietly, opened the door. Dave was sitting in his usual seat, staring at his computer.

The difference today was that the monitor was off. 

Dirk invited himself onto the bed and sat there, waited.

He could wait forever. He could wait for-fucking-ever for his brother to

_come home_

tell him what the issue was.

"Bro." Was Dave's opening line. "How many people have you ever seen die?"

Oh.

His friends, his  _brother,_ random faces on the street-

"Too many." He told Dave, and his lil' bro nodded.

"Someone told me watching others die made you stronger." He commented almost lightly. 

Oh god. What the hell had gone on at school. Such a young kid having to witness death. Permanent death. When Dirk was thirteen, playing the game, death just didn't seem that substantial. When Dirk was alone in the ocean... That was a different story. He wouldn't ever,  _ever_ wish it on Dave.

"Too many will break you."

Dave just nodded again mutely. "Someone was shot today. On the streets."

That was really all Dirk needed to know. 

"And everybody just kept walking. _I_ kept walking _. I just- kept- walking_ -" _There_ were the cracks in his composure.

Bedsprings creaked in protest as Dirk left the bed and knelt before his brother. He carefully, slowly, removed the rounded shades.

"Like the beggars in the street." The thirteen-year-old continued. His eyes were bright with... anger? Hopelessness. Defeat. His voice was still surprisingly level. "Some of them are missing hands, eyes, or they're just full of twisted skin and _no one ever stops_." He took a deep breath to try calm himself, and then met Dirk's gaze. "And one day, they aren't there anymore. No one ever complains. Why can't we do anything? I-"

Dirk was the worst. He couldn't even think of something deep and meaningful, something, just  _anything_ to say to his little brother.

"I'm weak. The hell, I can't believe I'm losing my cool because of this." Dave abruptly sobered and Dirk needed to say something, but his jaw felt like it was locked. "You've probably seen a thousand and one people die and never shed a tear."

"Dave." How was he to put this? Dirk cleared his throat awkwardly. "You're really quite a knight." Something was clawing him his chest, screaming for him to recall the images of bodies and limbs all scattered across a street. How he would not hesitate to take a life.

"Of time?" His brother asked, quirked his lips upwards. Yeah, Dirk was still telling him stories about SBURB. Sue him, they were detailed. 

"Of people in general." Dirk stood to leave. He couldn't discuss this, and Dave probably needed his alone time. Dave wouldn't really bare his heart (what he thought was his weakness) to his older brother. "I wish I could still look at lives in the same way." 

"Why don't you?" Big, red, innocent eyes and an  _innocent question_. The screaming inside turned into a bloodcurdling roar. Dirk needed to cool down somewhere.

Face carefully schooled into a delicate mask, he turned away and left.

\--

Later that night, Dave cautiously opened Dirk's bedroom door. Remember, no locks in this weird house. It was 4AM, crazy kid. 

Dirk was still awake, no big surprise. The thirteen year old didn't step in, just peered from him place in the doorway. 

"When will I see you die?" He asked the older, who was sitting on the bed, staring at a wall. Dirk swore normal kids didn't have these sorts of questions.

"That depends." Dirk said. "Do you mean when my heart stops beating because there's a steel rod in it, or when you lose me?"

"We only hate dying because we lose the person, duh." Dave rolled his eyes. 

Dirk began to laugh. It was a small chuckle, but he doubled over from it, clutching at his sides. Dave was beginning to feel slightly concerned for his older bro. "Dave, I'll always be around. For you, at least, kid."

"Yeah, nice bullshit."

"When  _you_ die, will you lose me or will I lose you?"

"Dude, why are you trying to ask a thirteen year old this. Do you even philosophy?"

"Philosophise."

"No, do you philosophy."

Dirk gave Dave a very flat look, but the question remained unanswered. "I might get shot. I might get stabbed. I might get... hanged. All those things are likely."

"Didn't you just tell me that you weren't gonna die?"

"I said I'd always be around for you."

"Oh, are you saying I'll keep your body after you die? Yeah, cute."

Dirk snorted. "Don't worry about it, Dave. Don't worry about me dying. Just worry about yourself, I'll take care of me."

"There are a load of people dying around the place. It's not  _me._ It's just random people. Like how can someone so casually take a life away?" Dave shook his head. Oh, he was such an adorable innocent little boy. 

Dirk stood from the bed and strode over to his desk.

In the third locked drawer, there was a newspaper clipping. There were several, actually. There was one about a troll-run restaurant that refused a dying human help. There was one about a burning apartment. Another about the suicide of a woman called Rosaline Lalonde (that one was a small article). Another about the recent lynching victims (his own name was in that one). There was one about the 'Angel's massacre' and how the culprit was presumed dead. Finally, there was a very, very short article about an apartment complex being demolished.

They were snapshots of his life. His hand closed around the handle, and he hesitated.

Dave was thirteen years old. He wasn't ready for this. 

He returned to his bed, his little brother giving him a quizzical look. 

"People are gonna die." Grade A speech giver right here, Dirk Strider. "And we just learn to live with it. There's nothing we can do."

"Humans are selfish." Dave mused.

"Which is why we're still living. Some people manipulate your sympathy." Dirk leaned back on the bed. He should go to sleep soon, if he didn't want his little brother's words haunting him the entire night.

"Like I did?"

There was a long pause. Dirk stiffened as though he'd been doused with icy water. "No, I have no sympathy."

"I think that's a lie."

"Just get out, Dave. I really am not up for this conversation." Dirk sighed and his hands rubbed at his forehead. Dave shot him one more furtive glance before disappearing and quietly shutting the door after him.

\--

They were the same age, sixteen, when they made the record.

Dirk had a surprise for Dave's birthday, and it was a set of turntables. (Dirk would totally hog them, though)

He thought Dave's brain stopped functioning when he walked in. 

"Holy shitballs. You are the best, the best. It is you, my best bro-"

"I'm your only brother."

"Yeah, so you're my best bro _and_ my worst bro."

"Lovely." 

"Yep, this set's lovely is what it is." Joy sparked in his eyes, unfeigned and unbridled. There was nothing to hide like his shades did day in day out, he laid it bare for his brother to see.

"You know how to spin? I got some pretty standard shitty tracks for you to play with."

"Hell yeah. I bet I can do this better than you."

"On what basis does that egotistical comment come from."

"Comes from my pure damn Strider genes."

Dave had no idea what he was doing. 

After sticking wires who knows where and turning Dave's room into this labyrinth of black tripwires, the thing was on and functioning. Beats flowed from Dave's fingertips and his long lashes were lowered in concentration. Swathed in his usual attire of simple red and white, Dirk thought that he could have seen this scene back in SBURB and not known it was a completely different Dave.

Except for the fact that it sounded shit.

His lips were parted, slightly, as though he needed his mouth to aid him in breathing. And those lips! They looked soft (damn chewable). Dirk knew that Dave would grow up to look like every other Dave; sleek and elegant. Gentle and languid.

"Like this." Dirk instructed, cautiously placing a callused hand over Dave's bony one. "This is an art, it's not something that you just leapt the fuck into and expect to know everything." They didn't touch often, not in such a companionable manner. Dirk wondered if it was unnerve Dave, or if he'd pull away. 

He didn't.

\--

The record was playing.

It had taken long hours and days to make, but Dirk had guided Dave around making a little mix.

Dave was face down on the futon. His ass had just been whipped by Dirk in their most recent strife. Dirk swatted at the unmoving lump that was his brother, and he got a tired groan in response.

"Go shower." He commanded the blob king.

"Get outta my face, bro."

"Take a shower. You sweat like a dog, we were up there for hours. It's still hot here, too."

"But this so comfortable. Let this be my kennel." Dave rolled over to face Dirk, who was towering above. He stuck out his tongue. "Honestly, I could sleep here. It's plush. They shouldn't sell those giant beds at furniture stores. The should just sell these. People would go flocking, they'd get all the sales, because this couch is so darn comfortable."

"There is no way you're stealing ownership of the couch. It's my secondary bed."

"Oh, watch me."

"Have you forgotten just how hard I stomped you in the ground literally minutes ago?" Dirk raised a pale eyebrow. "Ass, off."

Dave, the sneaky little shit, just shifted a little to let his ass dangle off the soda. "I think it's the music. And the heat."

"What?"

"It makes this sofa even more comfortable than it is. It's like the music is weaving me some musical magical pink blanket, tucking me to sleep like the little princess I am." He rolled back to occupy the piece of furniture again with his whole body.

"You only think so because you made this mix, egotistical brat. Now go roll away to the shower."

"Hey, you made it with me." Dave shrugged, tilting his head. "It's  _ours_."

"Yeah, nice, cute. Get off this couch or at least give me some space to sit." 

Dave shuffled upwards, and Dirk sat by his feet. "Oh my god, why are you so fat. I'm going to have to hang off this thing now. Is this why our pantry is always empty? Are you just inhaling the entire thing and growing wider each secret feast?" Dave raised his feet and planted them on Dirk's lap.

"Your feet stink even more than you."

Dave wiggled them, raised them closer to Dirk's face and  _oh god._ Hell had just descended on his nose. 

"Last chance to go to the shower on your own, Dave."

"You'll never take me aliiiiiiiiii-" Dirk wrapped his hands around Dave's feet (he'd wash his poor now-stinky fingers later) and lifted them up over him. Dave now had his back flat against the couch, his legs bent over Dirk's shoulder. 

Dirk then stood.

"Oh my god oh my god I'm not four anymore I'm like as old as you, you can't just do this!" Dirk was tall, but of course Dave's arms could still reach the floor. He was slung over Dirk's shoulder like a rag doll. "Diiiiirk!"

Dirk took his time getting to the bathroom. And like a reluctant cat, Dave latched onto whatever furniture he could. Dirk was pretty sure Dave, in his flailing, managed to swat his ass a few times. Well. Um. Dave didn't seem to notice. Either way, his face was already red from hanging upside-down while shouting. His voice, actually was slightly muffled. Hm. How had that happened? 

Dave was gracefully dumped on the bathroom floor, and Dirk turned away to remove his own shirt and toss it into the laundry basket. All his clothes would need washing. As he was frowning into the sheer amount of shit in the basket and wondering how he'd divide the work between him and Dave, there appeared to be some sort of commotion behind him. Dirk turned. Dave's shirt was tangled around his head, and he was struggling futilely to remove it. Or maybe put it back on. It was probably that conflict that was causing him so much trouble. Dirk saved him the effort by grabbing his shirt and tugging upwards. He tossed it away to join his in the bright pink basket.

He had stripped his brother. That fact just flew over his head and right off into the sunset.

In the meantime, Dave blinked. The balance between them had changed, because now Dave wasn't the younger brother, they looked about the same age. And they didn't touch, not each others clothes, what-

Dirk was shirtless. Well. Dave didn't see that all to often.

Dave was glad his face was already red. "Dude, what."

"You can wash your own shit, and I can wash mine. How do you even go through that many clothes a week? I swear I only ever see you wearing the same shirt." Dirk was ruffling through the clothing basket, picking out the shorts and shirts he had worn throughout the week. And boxers.

He was probably shuffling through Dave's boxers too, then.

Oh god, for the last few weeks and years Dirk had been touching his boxers all the time. He was already weirdly insistent about hand washing nearly everything. He like, hand washed the sleeves and collars of shirts before chucking them into the laundry. You'd think such a robotics person like him would use the laundry machine 24/7.

Dave felt like this was the first time he'd ever seen Dirk blissfully oblivious to something. Dave's face was still flushed, and it wasn't from his previous struggling.

"Yeah, okay, cool. Now get out." He made a shooing motion with his hands and did not, did  _not_ watch Dirk saunter out and watch the muscles on his back shift with years of grace.

\--

"You wanna know how I found you, huh?"

"Yeah." Dave, 17, was sprawled across the couch. Dirk, ever the diligent housewife, was on the floor with his laptop trying to program a robot to cook. 

"I'm surprised you didn't ask earlier." 

"Well," Dave shifted so his head hung off the sofa, upside-down next to Dirk's. "it's 'cause you don't really act like my dad. And I did ask you once, don't you remember?"

"No." Dirk said truthfully.

"I asked you if where I came from was important. You said no." Dave shrugged. "You're my bro, not my dad."

"Despite the fact that I was the one changing your nappies."

"Don't lie to me, I know you hired someone to do that." Dave drawled lazily. Dirk chuckled (because it was the absolute truth). "But yeah, magical Dave baby-finding story. Give it to me."

"I was a classic rebellious teen-"

"You're always a teen. You're like forever a teen. Teenever. Grow old, man."

"Do you wanna hear the story or not?" Dirk tipped his head upwards, shooting Dave a disgruntled look. Dave closed his mouth, and instead reached out for his phone that lay on the coffee table. Probably to type up his notes of what he'd snark later. "But I did that classic teenage thing where you walk through construction sites like it's nobody's shit, and I found a baby."

"That's it?" Dave sounded disbelieving.

"Yes."

"What, someone just threw their baby where people were building their house?"

"It was an apartment renovation. The entire complex was going down."

"So they left without their kid." Dirk heard that tone in Dave's voice. It was bitter. 

"Dave." Use his name, make it personal. "Have you learnt any history? At that point, there had just been riots all around the city. Your parents," he stumbled across that phrase, because he and Dave had never had any parents. Not like the other kids. They only ever had each other. "they might not have left voluntarily."

"You mean they got forced out without their child?"

Dirk fixed Dave with a very flat, unamused stare. "I mean they may have died."

Dave's mouth worked soundlessly. "Well."

"Don't tell me you're going through a late developing teen crisis where you're pining for attention and love."

"I am not! I was just curious, okay? And bro."

"Yes?"

"Why that apartment? Pretty lucky that you'd stumble on me."

Why did Dave suspect? How- what, why. "What do you mean?"

"There were twenty apartments getting like bulldozed at that time. The chances of you walking into the room where my petal soft lily white ass was sitting were lower than the temperature of Antarctica." Dave was searching online for the facts on his phone, wasn't he? Cheeky bastard.

"Not the Arctic?"

"Antarctica's colder. And you, stop trying to dodge the question." It was a good effort anyway. Totally.

"Maybe I spent my entire days roaming those sites, ever thought about that?"

"Yeah, suuuuure."

"I had even less of a life than you." Dirk sighed and leaned back, resting his head against Dave's legs. "I'll tell you one day."

"Promise?"

"Yeah."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people are probably wondering why dying of old age isn't just.  
> It's because he's a god. Gods aren't supposed to age, the game's just unjustly decided to fuck with him a little and let him grow older.  
> Yeah.  
> Great explanation 101.
> 
> btw disclaimer education is probably good.


	10. 3c

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **graphic description.**
> 
> There are also extra footnotes you can check out at the end, because I got a little carried away on things that would definitely kill the mood of the story.

He fled from the bar (don't ask how he got in, he had connections) before the night grew too dark and it was only filled with those looking for bed-warmers. He swayed down the streets, sword steady in hand yet mind undeniably drunk. Dirk never took people home. He wondered idly if he was becoming celibate or something.

Dirk collapsed on the sofa once he entered the apartment. It wasn't late, Dave wouldn't be home yet and Dirk always left bars early. Hell, Dave spent longer out at parties and drinking than his "older" brother.

He didn't really know who was older now, the line had blurred slightly. Sure, there was still the respect between the two and that balance where Dirk won every strife, but he didn't go washing Dave's clothing anymore and he sure didn't go thinking of his brother as a little kid. He was _his_ kid, but not a _little_ kid. This 'kid' was half-way through seventeen now, growing and blooming from a perfect little bud into an even prettier flower. When he grew old... Dirk would probably stop seeing _Dave_ and start seeing his older bro, his hero. 

Dirk would be sad to watch Dave go one day.

Hah, he sounded old. (As if he could age). Maybe he should leave before he had to watch Dave... age. Age and find a nice wife or husband and brilliant job.

He needed to get drunk. Luckily, due to his amazing foresight, he had managed to get his hands on a few bottles of actually decent drink. Woah, for once, totally unironic alcohol. He had come back to the apartment to down them, because he was slightly concerned about passing out in a foreign bar. The more terrifying prospect, however, was waking up with no pants on, in some stranger's bed.

He swore he half never wanted to see his dick again. His dick reminded him of his heart, and that shitty organ was torn to pieces, strewn across all timelines and worlds and he was pretty sure he'd never get it back again.

Ugh, he was such a piece of shit. Couldn't get over anything at all. That was really the issue, wasn't it? It wasn't _them_ , it was him. It wasn't that they looked a ton like his friends, it was that he couldn't bear to let them go every time they died.

Dirk was not a strong man. He doubted he ever would be. The day would come when paradise was over and Dave would pass away, too. An old man with an old wife and his own kids, and Dirk would still be sixteen.

Jesus fuck where was the drink.

Yeah Dirk, keep getting drunk and keep avoiding your problems.

Fuuuuuck. He hated his life and everything in it. (Except Dave, he could never hate Dave).

The bottle clinked as he set it back onto the table. Drinking from glasses was for sissies. It burned its way down his throat, and soon enough, the anxiety began slipping from his limbs. This couch was his humble throne and he was going to lavish himself in it. He set his shades down and reclined against his lovely, comfortable seat. Beds were overrated. He turned the television on, but soon found that he didn't like such bright, constantly changing lights.

He sat and drank alone in a dim apartment. He could see his own face, staring back at him from the television. He looked older than he remembered. It was probably the whole being a guardian thing and actually living for a number of years without dying thing. Honestly, the whole resurrection thing was nuts. It was as though the world had some sort of save file on him, and every time he died it was reloaded. Any muscle he put on, any new scars, wiped from the face of the earth.

He poked at his cheek, ran a fingernail along his skin. He did actually feel older. Hell-

The bottle was haphazardly tossed on the couch as he strode into the bathroom and stared at his face in the mirror. A wall of blackness grinned back at him. The lights. Good job, Dirk, you forgot to turn on the lights.

Flick.

He looked older. A year, maybe two? Did he actually age, albeit very, very, slowly? He'd been living without a problem for sixteen years now. It was a new record for him.

So what if he did actually age? It made sense. He could put on muscle and obtain scars and blemishes, why wouldn't he age? God tier healing, maybe. Replaced the cells as quick as they died and as quick as they began to fail in their functions. He knew for one that he had never been sick in this new universe. Who knew. Certainly not Dirk, he was more a physics guy than biology. 

So what if he slowly grew older? Even if he died of old age, he'd just resurrect sixteen once more. 

It didn't matter at all.

He returned to the sofa, entertaining the thought of drinking himself to death. He looked at the bottles, looked at the couch, and decided: not today. Dying really wasn't pleasant. It was reserved for when he was feeling particularly self-destructive. He slumped on the sofa, stewing in nonsensical thoughts and whatever images flashed to mind. Something tugged deep in his memory, like a hook in a fish's side. It was painful despite the dulling that the alcohol caused. Like a barbed wire, quietly etching a word into his flesh. The word he could not see from the surface, but it was pulling him in. Should he struggle? Pulling him in and-

suddenly he went down with a splash. 

Karkat. Vantas. Karkat Vantas. He had been the last one alive, besides Dirk. An image flashed before the drunken man's eyes. 

_The nubby-horned troll was a heap on the floor with his breath coming in rasps. Bright, bright red stained his side. A huge, gaping wound bled freely._

_"Fucking Jack-"_

Dirk clutched at his head, willing the movie in his mind to stop playing.

_"Save your breath." Dirk urged, ripping parts of his god-tier outfit to shreds and wrapping it around Karkat's waist, applying pressure. There was no way to save him, unless... A green house sat before them, door open wide and white light shining invitingly. The rest of their friends were dead. A limp hand rested by Dirk's foot. Noir, too, was lifeless on the other side of the black, floating platform. He tried to shift Karkat a little closer, just an inch, dragging him by the back of his shirt, but the troll cried out and jerked in his hands. His hastily tied shirt was quickly drowning in red._

_"Just go, you stubborn bastard." Karkat growled, but true to the insult, Dirk was stubborn. "You don't have to sit by and watch another of your friends die."_

_"I can get you there, once you go through you'll be fine."_

_"You really believe that? You really think that with this hole like a-"_

_"Yes. Don't be a knight." Dirk said, trying to still his shaking hands. This time, he grabbed Karkat by the ankles, dragging the troll along the floor. He didn't even know how to move injured people, what if he was killing Karkat right this instant? Karkat better damn live._

_"Idiot, this is the end. End of the line. Game over."_

_"I know." Dirk growled through gritted teeth, shuffling awkwardly as he dragged Karkat towards the open door. They were still a while away, and Dirk's own arm screamed in pain. It was twisted, the muscle torn, and he was still straining it further._

_"Go to your new-found long-lost friends, just go. Leave."_

_"It's not going to happen." Dirk panted._

_"It doesn't matter if you're the only one living." Karkat had his eyes closed and was looking oddly resigned. Dirk was so used to seeing Karkat's face filled with anger, or any sort of other passionate emotion. "We'll all be."_

_"You won't remember anything. Rose saw, she told-"_

_"Fine then, fucking fine!" His eyes flew open. "Lie to them and tell them that no one ever died! Tell them we all won happily ever damn after and no one remembers a thing. Cry by night," Karkat collapsed into coughs, and Dirk steeled himself and kept on dragging. The troll recovered, voice hoarse. "Lie by day, tell them no one ever died! Who cares? Tell them at the world's just fine! What-bloody-ever! Just- fucking- go!"_

_The light was getting dimmer, what? Dirk risked a glance behind him and_ the door was closing. _The white rectangle that was escape was slowly thinning._

 _Dirk threw everything to the wind and picked Karkat up, despite the explosion of swears and the fact that he nearly instantly crumpled to the ground. "Idiotic, nooklicking piece of shit, I'm not going to live through this!" Dirk sprinted, and_ the door, the door, the door. _His foot slipped, and the impact of the ground was like a hammer blow. He stumbled the rest of the way, unable to even reach out and attempt to grasp at the slowly fading light._

_He tumbled through the entranceway. Karkat was screaming something in his arms, but the blood rushing in his ears drowned out any sound._

_The world was enveloped in white._

_Dirk woke as though all his limbs were stone. His head was pounding, and his mouth tasted of blood, but the ground was warm under his back. A sun hung in the sky, and holy shit..._

Karkat?

_Dirk scrambled to sit upright and immediately the world seemed to sway before his eyes. Pain lanced through his skull like he'd been shot, and he doubled over. Without even realising that at some point he'd scrunched his eyes shut, he slowly cracked them open again to be greeted by a scene from hell._

_The troll lay spread-eagled beside him, and Dirk rushed over to him to press his hand against the limp body's neck. A pulse, he just needed a pulse. His fingers shifted to a grey wrist, but still, there was nothing. Dirk lay his head on Karkat's chest, and_ there was nothing.

_Dirk threw his head towards the sky and howled._

 

He had never remembered anything about the end to the game, not until now. He only recalled other bits and pieces about his friends before they all died together in whatever final battle there had been. He wish he hadn't remembered, he wished- He wished he could keep running away and forgetting. Fuck, fuck, fuck, life.

Dirk curled up, alone in his apartment, and screamed into his knees as though it could keep away the past.

\--

Dave Strider came home at 1AM. At least he had gotten back before daybreak. He hummed to himself absent-mindedly as the elevator dinged and opened on their tenth floor. It wasn't the first time this week that he had come home early. Ah, there was the door. Heya door, how's it hanging? He jingled his keys in the lock. Even though Jacob was staying out later than him, Dave just really couldn't find the heart to stay away from home for an entire day and more. It was probably Dirk's fault. Dave couldn't bear to leave him in isolation, and the dude never went out anywhere. The other day, Dave had offered him a very ordinary ham sandwich and Dirk had looked at it in bewilderment. Who knew what on earth Dirk ate, if he was eating at all. In the darkness, Dave shuffled towards his bedroom. Was Dirk already asleep? His bedroom door was open, which was highly unusual. Dave peeked in, and was greeted by a hollow silence. Well. The couch, then. Unless he was hiding in Dave's room to give him a surprise strife or something.

He peered over the couch to be greeted by Dirk's sleeping form. That solved the mystery. Dave switched on the dimmest light in the room and it illuminated the way-too-many bottles sitting around the dreaming Dirk. With a sigh, Dave began to gather them up and take them outside to the bin on their floor. Before he exited, he gave one glance back at Dirk. His brother, despite the fact that he was sleeping, looked utterly exhausted. As though life had taken all the fight out of him. Dave walked to the bin room and dunked all the bottles in, returning as quickly as he had come. 

He shut and locked the door, before coming to sit on the floor in front of the couch. Dirk lay on his side, a faint frown across his lips. No one else would ever be allowed to see him this vulnerable, Dave thought. Dirk was a genius, inventor, a thousand other things. But Dave knew he was virtually friendless, and he had no idea why. Dirk knew his way around words, he knew etiquette, and it wasn't as though Dirk was deformed and ugly with demon eyes like Dave. Dirk was a bit of an enigma. For one, how old was he? How old should he have been? Thirty? He looked just as old, if not younger, than Dave. It was odd. And, in times like these, Dave found himself having to care for his 'older' bro. 

Grudgingly, Dave stood and made his way to his bedroom, snagging a change of clothing before he headed to the shower. He was way too tired to deal with thinking right now. Thankfully, when he got out of the bathroom, Dirk was still sound asleep. Dirk would have the biggest hangover when he woke, so with bare feet, Dave padded into the kitchen to ready some aspirin and water in the morning and all that shit.

He settled down at the foot of the couch, staring at the sleeping Dirk. His face looked ... serene. Yet still laced with a tiredness that contradicted his smooth face. Hesitantly, Dave reached out to lay a hand across Dirk's cheek. He did nothing else, just kept it there and watched his brother sleep. Brother? Father? Guardian? He had not a clue. His eyelids were closed, and it was a little difficult to discern his long white lashes against his skin. Dave pointedly kept his gaze away from Dirk's thin lips. Were his eyelids red? Had Dirk been crying? Dave felt something jolt in his chest at the thought.

"Yo, Dirk." He whispered. Yeah, Dave was going nuts, talking to himself. "I really hate you sometimes, y'know? It just flares up like a firecracker or something. I feel it  _here_." He put his other hand over his bare chest and continued. "Yeah, yeah, real cheesy, talking about heart shit, but honestly. It's not like I hate you for being useless, it's just sometimes you're so damn arrogant like you're the king of the world or royalty or something. Like you all got us under your finger and you don't age and I never see you hurt or sick. This is the lowest I see you. And it's nice." Dave paused in his thoughts, running his hand on Dirk's face upwards to lie in the soft blonde hair. "Not that I'm a sadist or anything, it's just that it's humbling. Y'know? Seeing you sleeping, I mean. Not crying. Fuck, it's be weird to see you crying. But it's nice to know that you're still human. Sometimes I feel like I'm living in a world where I can't win anything." 

Dave tucked a strand of wayward hair behind Dirk's ear. It was a hopeless endeavour, considering Dirk's hair would be absolutely everywhere in the morning. Wayward, unrestrained. A mighty accurate representation of Dirk himself, really.

He began a mindless ramble. "For one, you get up after getting totally smashed and you still look like a god. Whenever you do anything, you look like a god. Like how Striders should. You never lose a strife. You don't ever say anything good 'bout me. I don't you've ever gone to school, but you're still building robotics like it's nobody's shit. How the hell am I supposed to live up to anything you do or take care of you? You don't even tell me the goddamn truth. Like the hell's up with your gorgeous fucking skin that never grows any lines?" His grip tightened against both his chest and Dirk's hair, and he quickly let go. "You're driving me nuts, dude. 'Cause, holy shit, half the time I still wanna suck on your stupid face." 

Finally, sighing, Dave slumped down and grabbed the edge of Dirk's blanket that was steadily piling onto the floor, pulling it over himself. "Goodnight, you drunk bastard." He finally muttered, tucking his knees closer to him and going to sleep right there on the living room floor.

\--

Dirk awoke as though the planets themselves pulsed in his head, brimming in all their flaming glory. His mouth felt endlessly dry, and his eyes stuffed with cardboard. He forced them open nonetheless, flailing about for the bottle of water he kept in handy beside his bed. It didn't appear to be there. Where was he?

Right. The couch. He decided to lie there for a good few minutes before rolling to the side because apparently he had forgotten that he was on a narrow _couch_ -

He fell to the floor with a graceful thump. The impact made the solar system in his head spin, but it wasn't half as intense as when he had just woken. Ah, god-tier healing.

Well, not the  _floor,_ per se, for there was something to break his fall.

"Holy shit, dude, this has got to be the best way to wake up." Came a low, sarcastic, reply. It seemed as though Dave had already been awake for a while. Through his squinted vision, he found that he was abruptly face-to-face with no one other than his brother, body pressed flush to his through two layers of thick blanket. And thank goodness for that. Dave squirmed under him, attempting to wiggle away from Dirk's sudden trap from the sky. "Aspirin on the table. Also water."

Once Dirk had downed the two things that Dave had kindly left for him, he settled back against the futon. Dave was still pinned to the floor under his impudent ass.

"Gonna let me up?" Dave complained under the weight he bore. Dirk sighed, and leant his head back against the foot of the couch. "Dude. It's Saturday. I have like, things to be studying."

"Dave." Was all Dirk said. It was no command. It was a soft statement.

"What."

But Dirk simply sat there in silence, seemingly contemplative. 

"What do you want."

Dirk was holding the glass between his hands, turning it over and over, watching as its smooth surface caught the light. Dave assumed that it was because his head was still spinning.

"I'm serious dude, move your mouth or your ass." He was quickly growing disgruntled.

"I wanted to thank you, Dave. For everything." Dirk finally said rather quietly, holding his gaze, before hauling himself upright and swaying away to his room.

Dave was left lying bewildered and alone in the living room. That was the first thank you he had ever heard from Dirk. His mouth worked soundlessly. "Hey, you forgot your blankets!" He eventually managed. He gathered them up, they were still warm, and held them in his arms as he made to Dirk's room. The door was locked. "Open up!"

It swung open, rather reluctantly, and Dave stormed in, tossing the blankets in a heap on the bed. Dirk stood there and watched him with a raised eyebrow. "Dave, slow down-" Dave spun around, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pushed him down into his chair. "Dave." Dirk said, giving him that familiar warning tone that Dave had heard many times before in his childhood.

Dave slid onto his lap and grabbed his face almost viciously. "Who in the honest flying fuck are you?"

Dirk gave him an unreadable look and a small tilt of his head, as if Dave were the confusing one in the situation. "Your brother."

"You are not-" Dave began hotly.

"I amyour brother, no matter what anybody says." Dirk said calmly. "I have always been your brother, I will always be. It's always just been me and you." _  
_

"The hell are you talking about? Those long nights I spent alone at home while you left to get drunk or shit?" Dave snarled back at him, and he saw pain flicker across Dirk's face. ( _Dirk thought: h_ ow _long did I spend out in that ocean?_ ) It filled him with a flare of triumph. He could break the mystery man, he could melt the ice pillar that was Dirk. "Don't give me that bullshit, I've been here for seventeen years and that's probably the first time I've ever heard the phrase 'thank you' from your stubborn mouth!"

"And so what?" Dirk demanded, sitting up higher to be face-to-face with Dave. "Some children never hear it in their lives. Why would  _this_ one phrase send you flying after me, spitting swears with every sentence?"

"Because although I've been here for so long, although you've paid for my blankets and my bed and whatever food I eat, I don't know anything about you! I know  _nothing!_ " Dave said, almost shouting at that point. His hands were still gripping Dirk's face, feeling the smooth skin under them.

"There's nothing to know." Dirk said, icy demeanour quickly returning. His eyes were steely, and fixed on Dave's.

"Then why were you crying last night, huh?" Dave sneered, sliding closer. "Guess what, I actually do care about your stupid unaging face, I do actually care that you've never told me anything!" He was pressed close to Dirk, unsure at that point whether the heat he felt was his own anger or Dirk's. His nerves felt alight with electricity, and he noted with new clarity the amber of Dirk's eyes.

" _I'_ _ve_ never told you anything?" Dirk shot back. "You? You know more about me than anybody else in this entire world! You know more than anybody that has ever lived in this universe!" Dave's heart was pounding, the air around them seemed to crackle with unspoken energy. "Every single year, my heart has been cut open and laid out before you in neat little sections. Since the very first moment, I let your little infant fingers root themselves in my chest. It is impossible for me to leave!" 

Dave suddenly froze, and Dirk's usually stoic expression showed hints of dawning horror. "Is that what you meant by thanks for everything?" Dave asked. "You were going to leave? Don't you fucking dare leave me. Don't you dare-!" Dave finally crossed that minuscule gap between their lips and practically attacked Dirk's mouth with his own. "Don't you-" He growled in between particularly violent nips. "dare think about that again-" 

- _Once upon a time, a thousand years away and yet no time at all, two boys were alone against the world. It had been the wrong move, it really had, but_ _Jake-_

Dirk's brain short-circuited and fizzed out of life right there and then. He just... stopped comprehending, and actually tilted his head and parted his lips further for Dave while his brain was on vacation. His touch was electric, dancing over his skin. Dave's hands crawled over his shoulder and around his back, kissing Dirk as though his life depended on it. Dirk's own hands were fisted in Dave's shirt, clutching it closer to him.

But then, of course, Dirk's brain returned at a trickle. 

"Fuck." He breathed into Dave's lips. "Fuck, fuck. No. Stop." His brother did not relent, and if anything, his hands only tightened their grip. "Dave!" Dirk finally growled, pushing the octopus masquerading as his brother away from his damn mouth. Or at least, he put a little effort. Obviously not enough, because Dave only stood from the chair, still firmly latched onto Dirk. They stumbled from chair, and Dirk pushed Dave back onto the bed, still kissing. He trailed his lips down Dave's neck, and his brother arched up into his touch with groans.

Dirk told himself that he was only still latched to each brother because he was looking for a distraction. He needed to get out, this wasn't  _Dave_ who was kissing him, this was... this...

Dirk had no idea, really. Seventeen years and the person currently biting at his lips was a mystery. Dave probably noticed his hesitation, because he said: "Just shut up and let me fucking-"

The heaped blanket was a hands reach away, and Dave's words were muffled when Dirk practically tied him up in them.

By the time Dave freed himself and stumbled out of the room in a fury, Dirk was long gone. He didn't even take his shoes, just whisked his shades and wallet from the table and fled.

Dave tore the room to pieces. 

\--

The park was a constant in his life. The one thing that had remained. The apple saplings that he had last seen during his hanging were now growing nice and tall, red fruits. Most of them, however, were either pecked senseless by the invisible birds or snatched away by the hungry. There were no children playing in its branches. 

Yes, Dirk was distracting himself from the turmoil in his mind with detached observation. The largest tree was no longer surrounded by small hand-picked flowers, only brittle shards of grass. 

He sat on his usual chair, which really was growing mouldy through the years. The other trees were bearing new grey fruit, too. It made him feel quite powerless to see them, strung up like how he once was. All this fight was pointless. He hoped that when war eventually broke out, Dave would be dead by then. Preferably in the time period when Dave had recently died and had yet to come back as someone else.

 _Come back as someone else_ , that made it sound as though Dave was still the same person. He really wasn't - did Dirk still remember what that Rose-conjured Dave had said? "Like cookies all made from the same batter." Different shaped, probably, and maybe with or without chocolate chips. But really, the core was still the same. That was how Dirk should've been thinking of these reincarnations. But how could he kiss one? The idea was ludicrous. As though he was trampling all over Beta and Alpha Dave's graves. The difference between two, Dirk remembered, had been like a punch in the gut. To the public eye, Alpha Dave had been a sardonic bachelor with a cutting tongue, cool and collected, yet still seemed to seamlessly attract the spotlight. At home, he hadn't been too different. With a softer sort of snark yet the same calm demeanour, Dirk couldn't lie and say he didn't enjoy his company (over the computer, of course). He was the only one that had ever seen the great movie director tired and slumping after nights of tireless working (he had found boxes of pre-recorded material around the apartment, left just for him). He was the only one who had heard Dave's weary voice, or his occasional weary affection. When Alpha Dave had rode off into the sunset, Dirk had waited one day for him to return. Maybe - after all this time - perhaps he would see his brother in the flesh.

So, he had been rather understandably disappointed with he had met Beta Dave. The other children had clamoured to meet their alternate guardians, but both Dave and Dirk were constantly, conspicuously, found in places far apart. Dirk had used the excuse that he had lived in isolation with only the birds. Dave simply said he was busy. It had taken Roxy and Rose's collaborative efforts to get them to sit down and talk. Naturally, Dave had started nervously rambling until Dirk had felt comfortable enough to quip back. Both of them had lost somebody who they weren't even sure they loved, and here was a) a living reminder of their pain, and b) a poor replacement.

It had taken a while for them to understand that they weren't replacements. No one could replace an idol. There had been times when Dirk fumbled during a strife and Dave would just give him this  _look_ as though he was seeing a stranger. Or vice versa. One notable instance was when Dave was up on a ladder, attempting to reach for a book in the library when he slipped and the entire thing came crashing down. Alpha Dave would not be seen dead so clumsy, but nevertheless Dave burst into laughter and although Dirk was initially embarrassed for him, he did dissolve into chuckles. 

_One night, Dave had silently slipped into his room and sat at the foot of his bed. To no surprise, Dirk was still awake and fiddling with whatever he had scavenged from the depths of the meteor._

_"Sometimes I just look at you and I think, this dude is the second brother I never had. Like a twin." Dave had commented. The words had drawn Dirk's head around like a magnet._

_"I can't quite say the same, considering my limited human interaction and limited knowledge on what siblings... 'should' be like."_

_"Well, twins steal each other's crap and shove people's faces into puppet ass left right and centre, together." Dave had given Dirk a broad smirk before throwing aside Dirk's blankets. "So right now in the comfort of this cold night on a flying rock, I'm going to take this sweet cotton-soft bod. Bed."_

_Dirk had no objection about that, and as he worked, Dave mumbled in the background, cosily nestled with only his blonde head protruding onto Dirk's pillow. "We could swap shades and you could stop using a truckful of gel and I bet I could totally pass off as you."_

_"Really now."_

_"Yeah, I'll just pretend to be a jerk."_

_"I wasn't aware you weren't already one."_

_"Woah woah woah, who's talking?"_

Dirk thought that it was true, Beta Dave had been like his twin. Alpha Dave had been his hero. Davesprite had been a companion. The first Dave in this universe had been a friend; the second who'd stolen his katana, a stranger; and who was _this_ Dave?

His lover? No. He refuted it, he wasn't as disturbed about the thought as he should've been. That was probably because Dirk had been raised without all the typical societal norms. Dave  _was_ pretty, Dirk wasn't about to deny that. He'd just never felt that way towards Dave, and raising him from infancy didn't help either. Dirk didn't- he _couldn't_ respond to this Dave's affections. This Dave was his kid, turning into equal. This boy he had seen as an baby, he had seen him shit his nappy before, for god's sake. Besides, Dave had been caught up in the moment. (Just like Jake had once been). It wasn't a _healthy_ thing to pursue, not when Dave only began kissing him and holding him tight when Dirk threatened to leave. Dirk had hardly ever even seen hints of attraction towards him, and had never really felt incestuous urges towards Dave. 

 _Unrequited._ Some part of his mind whispered. Dirk shrugged it off, turning on his shades instead. He would return home and speak to Dave about it, clear up any misunderstandings. Just... not yet. He had something else to attend to, first.

The little flower shop was nestled away on the outskirts of the city. Dirk had hailed a cab, avoided being robbed (he hadn't taken his katana, what a terrible lack of foresight), and stepped into the store with a small tinkle. He was instantly washed over with a swirl of sweet fragrances. The woman at the counter looked up at him, giving a welcoming smile in the form of thin black lips.

Dirk had thought this day couldn't get any more surprising. 

She was a human this time, jet black hair, pale skin, but the same jade eyes. She seemed a little taller (or was she older and/or wearing heels? God, she always dressed well). It was a humble store, really. He wondered how she could make a living off of it, or keep any shoplifters at bay. 

A particularly elaborate arrangement caught his eye. It was a small basket of white and green - the snow petals of every size and form, blooming outwards. He squatted down to examine it, and noticed a small tag that read: _Eternal_ _memories.  
_

A small note said: " _For remembrance."_

Most of the arrangements were for memorials, some for weddings. Another bundle caught his eye, a plethora of white-kissed oranges and reds, peeking out from the timid leaves.  _Goodbye too soon_.

Dirk felt out-of-place in the small store. Everything seemed dainty and breakable, including the woman at the counter. It was a haven - where the smog and shouts from the city never permeated. In his bare feet, tousled rumpled clothing he slept and fled in, in his conspicuous sunglasses, Dirk felt like the dark stain.

"Troubled?"

He shook his head as though it would clear away his dark thoughts. "The city's smoke clouds my eyes."

"Nay, sir. I would say that it is not your eyes that deceive you, but rather the light of this store a mirage. Although it lifts my soul to be here, it sits on dark foundations." That explained a number of things, actually. Dirk guessed that she probably had a partner earning most of her income as well as protecting the store (with violence, what else?) from petty criminals. "Yet it does not mean that this place cannot hold peace."

Dirk nodded in agreement. He decided he might share a little of his sentimentality because even not-Kanaya had this calming sense around her. "These flowers are for a child I gave my life for, and who gave me hers." For you, ma'am. For you who died in a building you felt safe and trusted in.

"Your child?" She asked gently. Perhaps she was simply a very good judge of character, and only asked him because she had known he would not be upset by the question.

"I never knew her name."

"Ah. 'Tis a heroic thing, both to honour and to save her."

"I failed to save her." Dirk stated, quietly and flatly. It was as though the tranquility of his surroundings leeched away his anger and left him as one of the robots he created. He scooped up the  _Eternal _memories_  _basket and approached the counter, digging around in his pockets where he stored his wallet.

"Then, like how the light here chases away the original, the shadow; let your troubled heart ease."

Dirk's mouth went dry. "Yeah... I'm trying."

\--

When Dirk entered the park, he was rather suddenly aware of the grey fruits hanging from the trees. He really needed his katana, for god's sake. Those sorts of things would completely wear down his hands before he could get them down. He couldn't leave them hanging, this entire place was just a giant fucking mess and giant fucking dump. He wanted to tear down the city and  _scream_ at it - for killing his friends a thousand times over, for making Dave feel so unloved that the only person he turned to was  _Dirk._  

He got a number of odd looks and sneers on the street - a teen scuffing his feet on the streets with a bundle of flowers under his arm. By the time he reached the apartment, his feet were red raw from the occasional running he had to do.

He didn't have keys. He had honestly left far too many things in the apartment. Here came the Dave confrontation, then. 

A knock. Would Dave be angry at him for leaving? Surely not. Dave was the one that had come onto him in the first place. He'd probably just play it cool, pretend nothing had ever happened, understand that he'd been rejected. Dave's self-esteem had always been a little under the weather. 

Dirk stood patiently at the door, and the seconds passed with huge, resounding ticks in his head.

_Tick._

The minutes slipped by.

_Tick._

The apartment was so silent, as though dead.

_Tick._

Had Dave been angry enough to lock him out? Push came to shove, Dirk could probably break down the door anyway, with just the coins in his wallet and the shades on his face.

_Tick._

Was Dave even in there? Dirk could hear absolutely no activity behind the door. 

_Tick._

Did Dave go out drinking with that not-Jake kid again? Jacob or some shit? Maybe he had. Perhaps.

_Tick._

Dirk did not know why he clung onto  _that_ thought as a futile hope. 

_Tick._

Perhaps he couldn't bear to imagine what was causing the silence if Dave was still home.

He fucking pounded on the door with one hand, and still there was no answer. 

_Tick._

Last damn straw. Dirk still had that robotic cleaner in his closet that he could remotely access and it'd come to the door. He'd put it out of use after Dave had tripped up on it for the fifth time, and after it inhaled and incinerated one of Dave's photos.

_Tick._

One of the orange lines on his shades informed him that the robot was slowly, casually making its way across the apartment to the door, where it'd raise a painstaking broom for a hand and push the doorknob. Dirk wished it had heat sensors that would tell him if Dave was still in there. 

_Tick._

_Rosaline threw herself from the balcony into the rushing waters below, where if she did not drown, would be shattered at the bottom of the waterfall._

Dirk's nails were digging into his palms. He mentally promised himself not to lose his composure any further. 

_Tick._

That kid he'd seen before he was dragged off by the lynchers, it had been Vriska, hadn't it? The little witch. She had been so young. 

_Tick._

He couldn't exactly fault her for doing what she had done, those men had to have found her and attacked her. Maybe she attacked them herself, driven by rage. He'd never know her story, would he?1 That could've been Dave. What if Dirk had never listened to the dead Rose? What if he had never followed her to that broken apartment, where a young child had laid abandoned? What if? Would Dave be the same? A vicious little beast, scampering around the streets dirty and haggard, knowing how to be quick and on his feet because that would be the only way he'd stay alive?

 _Tickkkk-ckk-ckkk--ckrrr----_ The clock ground to a halt.

The whirr of a robot. A creak of hinges. Dirk pushed his way past his robot and slammed the door after him. The couch was empty, where was Dave? The kitchen was empty. His own room-

Blankets were heaped over the floor. His pillow was shredded and feathers were splayed across the room. That wasn't what caught Dirk's eye, though. His desk was upturned, the drawers wrenched open and shit spilling everywhere. His katana sat neatly against the wall and Dirk slung it over his shoulder.

That wasn't what worried Dirk, though. He saw what else Dave had left in the room. His hands were shaking, yet he stood straight and strong.

The world spun before his eyes, the silence was like a mountain on his lungs, chemicals stung his nose- It was all falling apart. Carefully constructed, seventeen years of peace, was this what it had all come to? 

 _-Flung open the grand door laced with gold and there was the queen bitch herself, a wide grin across her face. His own hands were running with blood._ _I failed I failed I failed **I failed to save them** -_

_"If it isn't my prince!"_

_His lips were coated in blood too, from where he had tried to revive his dead friends-_

His hands were dry. His lips parted in ragged breaths. It was as though he couldn't get enough air, it was as though the tectonic plates were shifting under his feet. (Something had changed that day.) Like something long dead was easing its way back out from the molten core of the earth, jaw open wide and fire dancing in its maw. With a heart of darkness, it rent the very ground to snake around Dirk, to bury itself once again into his thoughts. Back when he sat night after night in a dark room with only a small square of light, an apartment with pills scattered all over the floor, useless knives and a bed that offered no solace.

The apartment was still silent.

Where was Dave, where  _was_ _Dave?!_ The composure he promised himself was quickly crumbling apart, not after what he had seen in his bedroom, not what Dave had splattered across the walls. _  
_

The dead dragon in his head purred.

He barged into the kitchen once again, and this time he noticed that  _all the chairs were missing._ Chairs, you stand on them to-

His footsteps were slow and steady as he made his way up to Dave's room. The door was predictably closed, and it was still far too silent.

The handle turned but the door would not budge.

_Not a whisper of sound. Normally, Dirk assumed that Dave was just on his laptop when he was this quiet._

Dave's shoes weren't at the front door, how had he overlooked that-

He would not scream, not yet, he would not-

A hand seemed to be crushing his chest.

_Tick._

_Every second could be one where he's rotting away._

Dirk's katana slid smoothly out of its sheath. 

 _He knows, he fucking knows_ ** _everything_**.

Dave had once told him that his own brother cut a meteor apart for him. A wall would hardly stand a chance. 

_Tick._

Turned out the walls were thin and hollow. There was hardly any insulation between them, even.

_Tick, tickkkk--k-ck--krrrrrrrrrr_

The bomb in his head crackled and stopped. The plaster wall fell inwards into Dave's bedroom, but the boy inside didn't even look up when it crashed to the ground. All the furniture in his room was piled up behind the door, as were the kitchen chairs. His cameras and photos were nowhere to be seen. The only things littering the desk were a few newspaper clippings as well as Dave's laptop.

Dirk knew those newspapers. They came from that drawer in his desk. 

The teenager that Dirk was searching for had headphones on his ears, and it was like this vice around his heart loosened at the sight.  _Dave was still alive._ But, being Dirk, he didn't show this outwardly. He simply calmly sheathed his sword as though he didn't just  _barge on in_ and destroy an entire wall. He was the light of his life or some other cheesy shit and it was  _entirely ironic because the reason this was happening was because Dave's feelings were unrequited,_ but Dirk did still care about him. He would slice down ten thousand walls any day if it would keep Dave alive. _  
_

The laptop screen was completely dark, but Dave seemed to legitimately be listening to something playing through his headphones. Dirk stood there somewhat awkwardly, considering that the bed he normally sat on was piled up at the door alongside this other huge pile of different furniture. 

This time, he spoke first, cautiously. "I _did_ tell you that Davesprite went out with Jade." He deserved the most gold of golden medals for how steady his voice was. Give him a damn pony or something. "She saw him as a whole other person. So did John. I personally only met him a few days before he died." If Dave was listening, he gave no indication. Regardless, Dirk powered on. "You know that I've met every single Dave. And I remember each of them differently. Think of someone's surroundings as a machine - put the same cookie batter into different machines and you'll get a different result each time."

"You still flared at Jacob that one time." Dave replied, slipping off his headphones. Although the tension was still thick in the air, Dirk relaxed at the sound of his voice. It solidified the fact that Dave was real, he was still alive, and not giving Dirk the silent treatment. "He's not Jake. He's not _yours._ "

Shit, kid.

That was like- like stabbing through him chest. And Dave _knew_ , too. He knew how many times Dirk had lost Jake. Jake- even after death- _wasn't his._  But he owed 'dealing with it' to Dave, he owed the pain of rejection. "I still see you as my brother, too."

"No, you don't. What do you see me as?" Dave gritted. "Say it, won't you? Give me a fucking reason! Is it because I'm not good enough?"

Dirk suspected at this point Dave was holding back tears. He couldn't really see, not since Dave was facing his laptop.

"You're the best thing that's happened to me in this world."

" _This_ world? Well that's some shit comparison isn't it?" Dave picked up the newspapers and waved them in his hand. "It's not a matter of  _can't_ , who gives a damn about the douchebag laws here anyway? It's _won't_ , right? It's because I'm your fucking kid, isn't it? Brother? That's bullshit."

Dirk had nothing to say about that. He was right - and to deny it would've been futile. "You know what? That's true, Dave. It's true."

Dave deflated at his desk and punched at one of his keys. Dirk now knew what he had been listening to. His recordings about SBURB. Dave was similar to him, really. They both seemed to draw the knife deeper to make sure that their pain was real _._

Dave had nothing more to say - neither did Dirk, actually. Not on that matter. Dave had been rejected, that was it. Nothing more. "I'm going out for a walk. I want you to come with me." Dirk told Dave.

"Can't you just leave me alone." The truth was, Dirk did hear this response sometimes (When Dave was whining about how he didn't want to go strife). But whereas he'd normally sling his brother over his shoulder and march out the apartment, this time he did leave Dave be. 

"It's something you need to see." Dirk stood to walk out of the room, through the hole in the wall. "And don't worry about the mess you made, I'll clean it up."

He made his way back to his own room to pick up a pair of socks, for his shoes. His room was fucking trashed. It was as if a bomb had gone off, flinging his belongings everywhere. He looked up at the wall once again, where Dave had left his mark.

Feathers from the pillows. (Like an angel's wings, who'd been torn from the heavens and spread out on a cold metal table. An angel, or-)

Like a child's scrapbook, orange paint to tack them to the walls, and orange blood to inscribe words. 

**_~~Dave~~_ **

**~~_Dave_~~  ** 

**_~~Dave~~_**

**_~~Dave~~_**  

**_~~Dave~~ _ **

**_~~Dave~~ _ **

**_Which one am I?_ **

It turned out that, despite Dave's initial insistence, he still ended up standing at the door with his sword on his back, camera around neck, waiting for Dirk to finish staring at the cute little present he had left on the wall.

\--

It was like the night sky, infinite, endless, and ever-expanding. Dotted with precious few gleams of light, yet mostly filled with darkness.

No- he amended himself - it was not like space at all. The universe always held a sense of beauty and awe, galaxies and immense planets; this place was the balcony, the spectator's stand, where from it he could always see the cruel, cruel, world. 

Twisted bodies and mouths agape. Eyes long stolen by the rotting birds, left out for the elements to dry. Rags clung to them, no one wanted the clothing of trash. Colours stolen by hungry hands, horns stumps and blood bled dry.

Dave fell to his knees and said tearful goodbye to his non-existent breakfast.

The city's smoke, replaced by a brief breeze of green, swamped in the putrid pungency of  _rot._

Were these the trophies of his people? Were these _shells_ the baubles that hung on Christmas trees? This world was tainted, it was a bear with red black bloody mouthfuls of teeth, it was a limbless child abandoned on the side of the road, it was a grinning demon- It was the world they had created! It was one that had crumbled. 

His flowers were placed aside. He would not mar their innocence, how they had grown up and lived in a small store of light.

His sword's first swing completely severed the rope. He was one of the Fates snipping away lifelines and watching the rest of the world come into play. The bodies were statues of the most twisted museum he had ever seen, held suspended in their displays until the duo came with their blades flashing. Fruits hit the grass, some were rigid and others split and burst. Some were already rotting to the point of bursted skin and giant blisters, bones showing where flesh had melted away with time.

 _That_ night on the streets, when he had murdered the living, he had seen the world through a haze. He had cut Rose apart (and he suspected Dave, too.) 2 Today would not be a repeat of that. Today he intended to keep a clear head.

The sound of flesh hitting grass was repulsive.

Dirk was panting when he'd cut down the last, turning away to go retrieve his white little flower bundle. Dave quietly ghosted behind him, still thankfully silent. With the same hand that had just sent bodies crumpling from their infernal nooses, he gently plucked out a flower. He was ruining the arrangement, he knew that. But he wasn't about to go dragging them all to the same spot. Some of their legs might come off if he had tried. 

Dave and Dirk had placed a white flower at the crown of each dead troll's head, turning them all to lie on their backs, unseeing eyes closed. The flowers would rot too, he knew that. But he had to try.

Finally, he approached the large tree, the memorial for the young Kanaya's lusus. It seemed like years ago the child had been candidly speaking to him. It  _had_ been years ago, he realised. Time just... slipped through his fingers and continued flowing on without him. He glanced at Dave, who was staring at the tree with a strange sort of intensity. It was as though his brother knew there was something significant with it, but wasn't quite sure what. Of course he wouldn't know, it wasn't like the apartment burning or his street slaughter that made it on the headlines, this was just about one little girl, and what did she mean to a big wide world?

The flowers sat at the base of the tree as though they belonged there.

"Do you know how long, Dirk?"

He was startled out of his thoughts by Dave's question, looking up to meet his eyes through his shades.

"Two three months." Dave continued, "Not long, yeah yeah. Just a stupid schoolboy crush, I know. I don't- It just seems pretty stupid compared to... this stuff."

Dirk knew Dave was difficult with handling somber things. His mouth would keep running until he said something rude or disrespectful, and then everybody would turn on him and kick him out of whatever the situation was. Dirk knew that was just Dave's way of expressing himself, that his mouth was his line of defence.

"I'll keep it down, I swear." Dave's voice carried a note of pain, and Dirk quickly caught onto it. "I'm sorry for disappointing you or some shit, it's pretty sick isn't it? Lawless city or not-"

"I never said I was disappointed in you. Just that I couldn't reciprocate because I raised you. Besides, I don't think I'm quite prepared for even more attachment towards one person."

Dave's mouth worked soundlessly for a second before he his jaw shut with a click. Yes, Dirk had just admitted he cared for Dave. Yes, Dirk had just admitted that regardless, he did love his brother. "Well." Dave finally gulped. "I guess I'll just have to wish luck to some other Dave in the future, eh?"

"What- No, Dave, you're jumping to conclusions."

His brother waved him away, bringing out his... camera. Dirk knew Dave liked photography, but this was certainly a _questionable_ thing to be taking pictures of.

"You like keepsakes, don't you? Well here, you can keep these photos." Dave walked around the park, taking pictured of the bodies and the trees.

"Those are disgusting photos, Dave."

"But meaningful, you'll keep them after I die." Dave said nonchalantly, and Dirk couldn't help but raise a questioning eyebrow.

"You learnt of my past only hours ago, I don't think you should be so  _desensitised_ to it."

"I had my suspicions for ages but yeah, today really sealed it." Dave was a little  _too_ nonchalant, and Dirk couldn't help being slightly wary. "You should go out, meet people, y'know? It'll get you more used to the mortality of everyone else."

"The pain-"

"You gotta learn to deal with it right? How else are you ever going to go out with some other me?" Dave snorted, and suddenly Dirk the reason to Dave's pain. There was some inner war in Dave right now: where on one hand he wanted the best for Dirk and on the other, he was pained that even though there were potential future Dave's, none of them would be  _him._

In that moment, Dirk's chest filled with warmth and he just absolutely loved his brother, for everything. "I..." His throat felt suddenly constricted. "I will try."

"Cool, I'll just... keep myself down for the rest of this lifetime, I guess." Dave gave him one last bitter smile, and walked away. "Say your goodbyes to that tree, I never met her as a young acorn myself, so I feel a little strange at her flower wedding.

Dirk chuckled as he watched Dave exit the park, thinking that for once, life might just get a little better. For once, someone knew the  _truth_ , and was willing not to call him crazy or press him.

Dirk murmured one last time to the tree and the white flowers. He could almost imagine the young troll scrutinising the petals between her fingers. "It is more satisfying to pick them yourself." He imagined she'd say.

"Ain't no winnin', not the game of time!" He allowed himself to smirk slightly. "But of course, I can stop spectating and start  _playing._ "

 

 

**Extra notes:**

1 She was a young child. Twelve years, to be precise.3 Backed up in an alleyway, hair frazzled and lips spread in a wide smile, she could only marvel at what had put her in this position. She could feel her assailants' minds, bright and pulsing with the driven flame of violence and anger. A pity, she couldn't quite focus on all of them when they were so guarded. Another conscious brushed at hers, and that one was broken _, just like her._ Oh, he wouldn't fear death, and neither would she!

She let another grin grace her lips and bared her teeth at the men before her. They were big, clawless, but had sticks of steel to make up for it. A number were sporting bright bruises and bleeding faces from when they had attacked each other earlier. God, she had done so well. Her matesprit would be proud.

Five years ago, still young (and not so naive), they had announced an undying pity for one another. Others would probably say that they were fucking retarded little children, that their quadrants would've surely jumped in the next few years. Sure, they'd been rocky a few times, but they always came out on top.

Except for that one night.

Pierced through the chest by her own cane! Always fighting for  _justice!_ Well, she would show them justice. In the form of shattered minds and shattered limbs, this blue-eyed trickster would bring  _justice._ Humans were liars and murderers and thieves and rapists and one day the world would raze them all to the earth.

Her newest puppet smashed in the heads of one of the men and she had to fight the bubble of laughter that threatened to escape. 

Somewhere in her mind, she noted the spikey-haired man with a sense of familiarity. 

2 Dave Strider puzzled over the odd teen. No one one had ever beaten him without even a nick upon their own skin. His opponent hadn't even been fully grown, for god's sake! He had also claimed to be Dave's  _brother._ Not to mention the entire "surviving through a hanging" ordeal. Dave had watched his body go limp (the teen hadn't quite emptied himself like most other dead men, though. Dave could only assume that was because he was starved). But hell, that brought up another whole puzzle. The dead teenager had regained a healthy figure in the span of one day. Bloody blasphemy, was what it was. Perhaps he had a twin.

The streets were dark that night, and he heard a commotion up ahead around the corner. He swore Roxanne lived on the busiest street simply to spite him. But he had an obligation4 to visit her often. His sword was a familiar, comforting weight on his back, but he held a new-found wariness knowing that there was somebody out there that he could not defeat.

Screams began to split the night air and suddenly it wasn't just a 'commotion' anymore. He sprinted the rest of the footpath, turning to see-

Carnage5.

Flashing lights. A whirlwind darting around the street at inhumane speeds. Bright glints of sharp steel, and there were bodies and those still yelling and-

 _Rosie._ Her tiny body lay prone on the concrete, curled into a ball. Dave's world shrunk and there was only her, her small arm moved-

The street was slick with blood of every colour. 

Rosie, Rosie,  _Rose!_ How had she- had she fallen? His eyes travelled upwards and there was Roxanne, screaming out her window. Her voice was ripped away by the boom of the city's chaos.

There were so many bodies! When had they all gotten here? Dave swore when he had first glanced at the scene it hadn't been half as wild. He shoved people aside, heedless if a snarling troll took a chunk of his arm. His own sword flashed dangerously.  _Stay away,_ it warned. He was a driven man with one thing in the world right now, and only one-

Around him, the city was in flames. Around him, a man danced with his sword and let it bite into flesh of every kind.

That man! He was-! That blade was _the fucking katana_ -

He had to get to Rosie, she was in the killer's path, nothing could stop him. When he spun, Dave caught a brief flicker of his expression; mouth drawn into a thin line as though he was leisurely crunching maths figures, but something in his face held a tautness that Dave felt like was fighting to break out. There was a  _demon_ in this man, his thoughts had taken up puppeteer strings and hollowed him out to play to their whims. There was a bomb woven into his flesh, and now it'd gone off, not with a scream, but with meticulous, calculated strokes that stopped at nothing, not even-

Rosie! _  
_

He saw _red,_  the colour flashed and lit up the street.Dave screamed as he felt something claw at his chest, and he didn't hesitate the skewer the troll who had slashed him. The wet sound of his blade and flesh was lost to battle, and Dave fucking stormed forwards, where that insane man held the persona and mask of perfect grace, where he stood and practically radiated death.

The little Rosie had a neat gash that split her entire torso, exposing more, more red to Dave's eyes.

"You want me to fight you?!" Dave screamed at the still-fighting man, despite knowing that he would never hear Dave's words, despite knowing he would never win. "You think you've seen enough death that you can let it out on other people?! I'll kill you! I'll fucking open you up!"

He howled as he lunged for the killing machine that was Dirk, the man that he would never know was indeed his brother. 

He would never see anything else, because Dirk Strider murdered him without a second thought, without a flicker of recognition.

3 They count in years because they're all on the same planet now. Alt. universe stuff. You'll notice that all troll ages so far have been in years.

4 Roxanne had suspiciously left to her parents for a several months, returning with her baby 'sister'. Dave strongly suspected that Rosie was actually his child, despite Roxanne's protests. She was probably just trying to maintain his sanity. Besides, he had never met her parents in person and at times doubted they were still alive. Roxanne kept her secrets from even her... friend. Nonetheless, when Dave held Rosie, he could not help but be absolutely sure that it was his child he cradled.

5 If Dirk had been in a stable state of mind, he would've analysed the situation quite differently. He would methodically file away every detail of the situation before leaping in head first. For example, he would note the growing number of bodies, and the fact that Rosie was directly in the killing machine's path. He might've left the scene entirely, and then beaten himself to death for not trying. That, or he would've done the exact same thing as Dave had done, minus the screaming. It would depend on who was lying on the floor, about to die, and how much it'd kill him if they were gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dave's shoes weren't at the door because he went out to buy orange paint. hahhahahahhhhh.


	11. 3d

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When did this monstrosity grow to be so large.  
>  _Why is it that I've planned for it to grow only larger._
> 
> Never expected a cute little idea of loving through to time t' spiral into this heap of... Who even knows. Rambles.

Dave had taken him to a party.

 _Dirk_. To a  _party._ He'd even refused to let Dirk take his katana. Dirk missed the blade terribly. 

The music was thudding and thumping, lights flashing even through his sunglasses. The place stunk of sweat and hot bodies and drink. Each pulse illuminated the mass of intoxicated bodies. Dirk stuck to Dave's side like a barnacle, partly hating himself for depending on his brother like this and partially hating himself for not being able to deal with the roar of music and conversation. His eyes flickered through all his surroundings, noting the DJ up at the stage; the woman who was downing far more alcohol than what should've been humanely possible; the man in the crowd who seemed to step on all the other dancer's feet; the small group in the corner, murmuring among themselves away from the loud sounds; the long line to the restrooms; the man who sat and leered at the other dancers, his own jewellery glittering around his neck; the other man handing out cigarettes to poison their lungs; another figure who seemed to be making his way towards them. Did he want to take Dave away and leave Dirk alone here in the crowd? That couldn't happen, Dirk would get lost, someone would talk to him and he wouldn't know what to say or how to reject them - this wasn't like how it is at the bar, where the point was just to get drunk and few people bothered him. Here he was supposed to _socialise._  All these people, all of them with wineglasses in their hands and smiles on their faces, he could imagine their grins melting into the horrified twisted jaws of the lynched, their eyes glassy as time flickered by-

" _Dirk!_ " Dave practically bellowed in his ear, finally snapping Dirk to attention. His brother waved grabbed his arm and pulled an overwhelmed Dirk flush to his side almost protectively, "You 'kay man?"

Dirk shook his head vehemently. He didn't trust himself to speak. 

Dave's gaze softened, but his hand seemed to tighten its grip. "Come, we'll get some fresh air."

Dirk felt more helpless than a baby as his brother steered him through the crowds and to the other side. He mentally chastised himself for his foolish behaviour - he was ruining Dave's night. He had been in bars before, filled with the same pulse of drunken haze. But now, the prospect of staying there, making friends and speaking with people soon to be dead, filled him with trepidation. 

He hardly registered the cool night air until Dave spun around to face him. "Dirk." His brother called, pushing his shades up into his hair. Dirk barely contained his surprise at the action - his shades were important, they didn't come off in public. "Dirk." Dave repeated, taking Dirk's face into his hands, trying to lock gazes. They were nearly the same height now, Dirk was still a shade taller. "Bro, talk to me."

He shook his head once again, trying to avoid those red eyes watching him. Dave's lips tightened into a thinner line. "We'll go somewhere else then, okay?" He pulled his shades down again.

They managed only a few steps, heading nowhere, when Dirk finally found the courage to speak up. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" 

"Being a burden." He shrugged as if he said nothing of importance. "You're trying pretty hard for something that's not worth it; breaking the number one rule of the Strider house, taking off your shades." He looked slightly wistful as he said the words, lips curling up into a ghost of a smile.

"Hey hey hey," Dave said. "I wouldn't even be  _here_ if it weren't for you, Mr I'm-not-worth-it." Originally Dave had thought seeing Dirk weak felt humbling. That feeling was rapidly disappearing into unease. What he wouldn't give to make Dirk laugh!

"You owe me nothing."

"You went out of your way to save me. Nah- don't lie to me, I know you didn't go around construction sites for fun." Dave gave Dirk a resolute stare over the rim of his shades until the taller acquiesced. 

"Deceased Rose and her prophetic visions." Dirk muttered. "But that's hardly the point.  _You_ saved  _me_ from insanity. You don't need to do it again."

"Well you saved the tiny baby Dave from being a splat in the rubble, and then stuffed enough food down his throat so he's now this big beautiful me- I think I owe you plenty."

And that, Dirk noted, was why a relationship between them would never work out. Not with Dave feeling obligated to help him. "I cannot change your will. But if you tire of me, don't hesitate to leave."

"That's not what bros do. And that's what we are, yeah?" Their gazes met for a brief moment, and Dirk had that moment of - we're not lovers, we're not friends; we're brothers - and that made him swell inside with a little seed of warmth. 

"We are." He gave Dave a small smile and he swore his brother  _beamed_ through his typically cool demeanour. "And we're not going back into that party yet."

Dave shrugged. "Then you lead the way, I'm fine with going anywhere. Just not that park again, oh god, not the park. I want to keep my food down, thanks."

"Lunch was five hours ago." Dirk steered Dave down the street. The Kanaya-lookalike's store wasn't far from here.

"My stomach is a delicate little flower. The slightest tip of crappy food sends it spiralling into hours of diarrhoea, don't deflower it with your disgusting rotting-people smells."

"I know a place your stomach would agree with."

"There aren't any. The food in this town is like the stuff you find at the bottom of soup pots. It's that scoop of unknown shit that everyone just sorta looks at and decides it's better off in someone else's bowl. Like - is this meat? Is this a vegetable? Is this even edible? That's like the state of the food here, I swear it wouldn't taste any different if you put a shoe in it. Scratch that, it might just  _be_ a shoe. At least shoes are nutritional, right? At least you could get a free shoe. Shoes are useful, you know, for running to your favourite douchebag restaurant before the other douchebags all line up like they're running a giant douchebag marathon to get the shiniest shoe in the pot of shit shoe soup."

Dave just fired his mouth away as Dirk crossed streets and observed the stores opening up for the night. "Sibilance." He muttered.

"- but then again the marathon wears down their soggy shoes and then they need new shoes, which they get at the end of their sloppy race. And you gotta pay a truckton for this crap-ass food, too. I wonder sometimes how people can even be fat in this city, what the hell are you even dining on? Are they putting drugs in their food to make it taste better? Besides, I don't think you can even digest shoes well, it takes a long time to break down and shit, and so you'll feel full for longer but get no nutrition so instead you'll look like a stick. Like you, Dirk, you're a stick, when the hell do you even eat? Half the time I just see you plastered to your laptop like a starfish or something, like your mouth's just licking the entire screen-1"

"If you're done Dave, we're here." 

He had to fight the smugness bubbling up inside at seeing Dave's jaw drop. Discreet, humble, was the small flower store. Little bouquets and arrangements lined the reflective windows, and the interior was softly lit. Around them, other stores had their air conditioning at full blast, boasting their bright neon lights and pounding music.

"This is so you and so un-you, oh my god."

"Hm?" Dirk made his way to the door handle, ornately carved.

"You're not a flower guy. You like loud music, but it has to be  _peaceful_ loud music- like it has to be your own little bubble. So this place doesn't have your blades and loud music, but it _does_ have your personal bubble box ticked."

"Sure." Dirk said, unable to keep the smirk out of his tone. "I like peaceful loud music, uh huh."

"Shut up, you know what I meant."

The door swung open with a ring, and unlike during his previous visits, the storekeeper was busy in the aisles. This time there seemed to be a man with her, too. "Ah," she smiled. "Gentlemen." The man looked up to glance at the two brothers, and Dirk quietly scrutinised him. Tall and pale, he seemed to give off an aura of authority. He held himself straight, a scowl on his face, dressed in a neat black suit and white dress shirt, and Dirk certainly didn't miss the gun holster at his waist. Guns were rare, expensive, and definitely not as technologically advanced as they had been back on Earth. That struck Dirk as strange, really, that although trolls and humans were at heads, guns were still surprisingly primitive. He supposed that they wanted to pick up their shattered cities before gearing up for war.

Dirk smoothed his face and pretended that between this time and the incident in the park, he hadn't come in and visited a few more times. Obviously Dave knew anyway, and Dirk knew Dave knew, but it was a silent thing that Dave _also_ knew wisely to respect. 

"I feel like I just inhaled the scent of the gods." Dave.

"Kan." Dirk greeted with a bit of a bow. The man still eyed him, no doubt able to tell that Dirk was a killer, or at least had the capacity to be. 

"Rolled up in the shape of flowers, this is like ambrosia in gas form. I should breathe out this stuff. It'll be like the opposite of a stinky breath, but with the same effect. Puts people to sleep."  _Dave._

"We're closing up soon, Dirk, so do hurry." Kan told him.

"Will do." He gently guided Dave around, showing him the lily arrangement that he particularly liked. 

"Are you gonna buy this for me sometime? We do have that vase up at home, the really dusty one. It's growing its own dust flowers, man." Dirk was hardly listening to Dave's words, his eyes fixed to the man at Kan's side, who was still watching Dirk. 

He saw signs. Slick black shoes that clicked with each step (they must be shined often, to remove the bloodstains). A stiff suit that looked new (why bother washing a filthy one when you could by another?). A glint in dark eyes of budding ambition. Carefully styled hair. Clean hands, unlike Kan's, who had dirt coating hers. 

Immaculately tidy, erased of any evidence.

The man came to a stop in front of Dirk, and from the corner of Dirk's eye, he saw Dave shoot him a troubled glance. Dirk waved his brother away and met his challenger (?) with cool eyes hidden behind cooler shades.

"I have a business proposition." He said by a way of greeting. Dirk's expression did not change. "I can see you're an experienced man, and I'd like to hire such _formidable_ talent." He seemed to snarl the words.

He was lying. Dirk sensed that instantly. The man must've known, known with conclusive evidence that Dirk was a killer. 

On the other side of the shelf, Dave watched with worried eyes. Kan stood to the side, silently observing the confrontation. 

"See, I think you know the type of business that I indulge in." The man's hands drifted down to the edges of his suit. "And I don't think you're no rookie in the field, either." He flipped his suit jacket open, and there, lining the pockets, were knives and knives.

Dirk's first nonsensical thought was: Kanaya married Spades Slick?

"Are you trying to threaten me?" Dirk looked up at him, a smirk spreading across his features. "That's going to be hard."

Noir v2.0 pulled a cigarette from one of his many pockets, rolling it around in his fingers. "Glimpsed your little face in the classified files. Would know those fuckin' glasses from anywhere. Don't think you want that getting out, do ya? They've called it 'Angel's Massacre'."

There was no way this man, sharp teeth drawn into a grin, wasn't Noir. 

Dirk shrugged. "You must be mistaken. The massacre was nearly twenty years ago."

" _Precisely_ why I want you." The man's eyes glinted again with danger, and Dirk took that as his cue. Dave, in the meantime, was already half-way to the door.

"Real pity then, huh?" Dirk took his time sauntering his way out of the store like the cocky little shit he was. "I don't play mercenary. Goodnight, Kan." He gave them a cheerful salute before the bell tinkled and the door shut behind him.

Dave had this expression of utmost shock and horror, which Dirk regarded with some amusement.

"You are a fucking enigma." Were the words that left the blonde's mouth. Dirk chuckled, and began to stroll down the sidewalk. Dave trailed after him, still incredulous. "One second you're flipping out because there's a ton of people, and the next moment you're just challenging a mafia boss head on?"

"I know how to deal with danger." Dirk explained almost apologetically. "Not people. I know how to defend territory I'm used to, not plotting uncharted courses."

"Weird-ass explanation."

"If anyone here's weird-ass, it's you."

"Nah nah, that dude in the store was pretty weird. Hell, I swear the storekeeper seemed sweet enough. Her husband? How did they even end up married?" Dave's eyes narrowed as they talked (not that Dirk could see behind the shades, but he guessed) "That was a re-incarnated Kanaya, right? Sounded like her. Looked like her, too." Dave had glimpsed their faces in his nightmares - Dirk's stories had simply helped piece it all together.

"I assume so, and her husband being resident Jack Noir." Dirk had to agree with Dave on that one. He was pretty perplexed himself. 

"Wait, what."

"Exactly." While Dave spluttered for words, Dirk continued on. "Things are changing. I'm unused to seeing Kanaya with anybody other than Rose. If anything, I would say that they were the one couple that stood resolute for as long as they lived. Most of _our_ romantic and platonic relationships fell apart throughout the course of the game." It was unnerving, knowing that even the most stable two had changed. Dirk frowned at the concrete as he walked.

"Dude, don't even worry about it. Me and you, we can pick up chicks anytime we want. We can just whip them up in our arms like whipped chick cream- Oh god, that's gross. Sorry. That really wasn't where I was trying to head with my sentence, uh-"

"Cut to it, Dave." Dirk sighed. His feet were on auto-pilot, tracing steps he'd taken many, many years ago. He wondered if the place was still there, if it was still serving its original purpose.

"Yeah okay, well, put some extreme metaphors and similes and other figurative bull here, point was that change ain't all bad."

"You leapt from point A to point Z pretty quickly there."

"Who cares. Back to point Z, you've got some sort of anxiety, don't you?"

"Astute observation." Dirk commented drily. "It's almost as if you haven't been living with me for the last decade and more."

"Yeah- but, okay, whatever, be sarcastic then. But you know my point: half the time change is _fine_. You're not gonna screw up, you're not gonna fuck up, you're not gonna make a bad impression; you're going to meet thousands of people in your life and no one's gonna care or remember what the hell you say."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence, Dave."

His brother threw his hands up into the air. Dave always seemed to gesture animatedly as he talked. "Is this how you feel when you're talking to me? Dancing around the subject like the ugliest ballerina I've ever seen?"

"I don't think you've ever seen a ballerina. And no, I do actually appreciate your words. As much snarky shit may come out of your mouth, I'm still listening."

"Don't diss shit man, sometimes a little fertiliser is what a garden needs to grow."

Their banter continued all the way through their leisurely stroll. But Dirk was a little on edge, fingers curling and uncurling from the absence of his katana, watching for any watchers.

He knew they were out there.

\--

The phone rang. Once, twice, with alarming clarity in the darkness of the room.

The troll in the chair groaned. God - why did the stupid human insist on phones? He could create an equally, if not safer, communication line over computers.

He let the thing ring five times, just for good measure, before actually picking up the receiver. 

"I have a job for you." The scratchy voice said.

Well _no shit, you just called for small talk._ The double-horned troll didn't even try fight the urge to roll his eyes. 

"Video footage of  _Angel's massacre,_  any evidence at all.I know they've got it in the police records somewhere, caught a hard-copy glimpse; but I want that full tape."

"Your police, not mine." The troll said, leaning back in his faithful chair. "But yes, I'll get to it. Rest easy."

\--

"For lease," the sign boasted. Hah. No one would want this building. In these times, it was useless.

Cracked bricks peeked from plaster, edges timid. Gutters were stuffed with dirt, choking and rotting. 

"Are you taking me to an abandoned warehouse? Shit, they'll never find my body."

Leagues of faded colour stretched over the once pristine walls. Bold, they shouted the amusement of teens. The handle 'round the front gave only a indignant squeak, so Dirk set to scouring the rest of the perimeter.

"Are you trying to break into this place? I thought you were supposed to be an outstanding citizen or something."

"I'll share an 'outstanding citizen' story with you later, Dave."

"Woah, really? Is that what the Angel's massacre thing was about? Wasn't that only a while before you picked me up?"

"I murdered a cop in cold blood."

"Holy shit."

"Actually, I gutted an entire street."

Dave gaped at him soundlessly. There was another door, hanging open on loose hinges. Dirk peered inside and wasn't surprised to see more graffiti. He gestured for Dave to follow, and took a step into the darkness. He ran a hand along the wall as he walked. He knew the main hall had a skylight, there'd be moonlight in there.

" _You_ were-?  _You?_ "

"You once asked me how many people I had killed."

"I- God, Dirk. How?"

"It was chaotic. At the beginning, it was just a human bloodbath; trolls had the advantage. No one paid enough attention to me, not until I ran them all down."

"How the hell have you even been surviving all these years?"

"I haven't." Was his short reply. His fingers were coated with dust by this point. "I didn't even intend to survive that spree killing. Loneliness drives you mad - thirteen years out in the sea and now a hundred more surrounded by faces I don't know. But then you came in."

"Oh."

"I did say you saved me, Dave. You really did. Rose found me in a dreambubble and guided me to you. Guardian angel, huh? She should be the angel, not me."

"I don't even know what to think about this, dude. Should I be concerned that Slick is after your ass now 'cause he somehow knows?"

"You shouldn't be. I have eyes everywhere."

"What? Oh god, you're going to kill him, aren't you?"

"That's a little risky. These days I actually try not to die. I'm not invincible."

"You didn't answer my question, I'm scared."

"I won't kill him, Dave. I won't need to. I'll just keep close tabs on him."

"How's that supposed to help? If he finds any sort of video evidence, you'll be a convict and all that shit, you'll have to change your face."

"When they first found me alone and alive on the streets, they knew I was the killer. But, my image was never released to public. There's someone looking out for me. I've done a little research, I'm not  _that_ oblivious."

"Don't you just hate it when your immortal brother reveals himself to be a secret spree killer with an entire underground network and dead prophets- why the hell did you take me here? Do you even know how to play piano?"

Dirk turned the corner and was greeted by a familiar scene. Dust clung to the bleachers, and danced in the frail beams of moonlight. The natural spotlight filtered down upon the lone star of the stage - still sleek black curves and waves, but now marred with the scratches of knives where names had been etched deep into wooden flesh. The entire arena was hollow and lifeless, the scars and pests of time left their marks everywhere. 

"I intend to learn." No one had taken her yet, (unlike the chair) likely because few people still knew how to perform, and how far could you steal a grand away, anyway? Especially when half the people lived in apartments. Her lid was thankfully shut, everything set away before the dust could bite into her keys. He opened it hesitantly and gently folded up the key cover. 

It resounded with the twang of an unused, untuned instrument. No longer bright, the sound was dim and muted.

Dirk loved it already.

"And here is when you suddenly break into unexpected piano talent, too?"

"There's a certain limit to being cliche, Dave. One day I'll do it, one day."

He tried to play a chord. Tried. It was either the untuned strings, or his skewed judgement.

"This sounds terrible."

"This is what you sounded like when you first started mixing."

"But you look like you don't know what you're doing, too. I only sounded bad."

Dirk tried again, this time the chord was actually in harmony, and it rung in the empty silence of the theatre. 

"Do you want me to give you a lecture on piano, Dirk? Jacob tells me this all the time."

"Only if it's educational."

"Piano," Dave gestured with an extravagant wave of his arms. "is all about the  _touch_. Anyone can read notes and anyone can punch keys, but it's those subtle variations in every note and the performer's interpretation that gives it the  _life._ "

"I thought I said there was a limit to cliche."

"Shutup-"

"I changed my mind, I don't want to hear what you have to say." Dirk said with a small smirk. 

"Rude." Dave pouted. "Why'd you suddenly want to learn piano anyway? I thought you weren't trying to keep clinging on."

"I'm not clinging." Dirk corrected patiently. "This is for remembrance. Like the flowers beneath the tree, like the newspapers in my desk, I keep them for a reason. Someone has to remember."

"Dunno, dude. Will you cling to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You asked me once, now I'm asking you. You gonna cling to me after I die?" He asked it almost jokingly, but his playful demeanour melted once he saw Dirk's stillness. "Dirk?"

His brother said nothing.

Dave backtracked as fast as he could. "Okay, I asked too soon, don't worry about it-"

"I don't know, Dave. I would go mad at trying to fight the inevitability of you growing old, but I'd go equally crazy in anger if you were killed." Dirk gave him a wry grin. "In all honesty, it might be better if you just left. Maybe I should leave it up to my imagination."

"Okay, I don't like talking as if I'm on my deathbed, but do you think you could promise not to break down if I leave, killed or otherwise?"

Dirk Strider said nothing, and instead ran his fingers across the piano keys in a long glissando2. "Not yet."

The two later left, back home, in silence.

 

**Extra notes:**

1 What Dave's rant would've been. "Like your mouth's just licking the entire screen, sometimes when I call you I seriously mentally wonder whether or not you've finished sucking laptop dick to talk - the electrical metal laptop dick that you installed because that's what you spend all your robotic talent on. Forget making any more killing drones or rapping bots or AI, make a personal metal cock sculpted to fit your mouth."

"Dave."

"What?"

"I don't know how you're related to me."

"Cocksuckers in arms, man." 

2 A glissando ( _gliss)_ is when you slide from a note to another, by the way. (When you see people with someone else's violin giggling as they slide their finger up and down the string to make this obnoxious alarm-wailing noise, while the violinist stands disgruntledly by) Or when you see a pianist run the back of their hand from one side of the keyboard to the other, making it glide and hitting all the keys along the way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is a bonus with drawings long due. Don't expect much.
> 
> Writing about the scarred piano hurt me.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Cheers.


	12. 3e (bonus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pictures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Please scroll right. Some of them are quite large.** Also, might want to zoom out for some.

"Hey, Dirk!"

"Yes?" His brother looked up from the other room. 

"You know how I asked you to draw me pictures yesterday?"

"Yes."

Dave's grin grew wider. "You know how I know your computer password?"

Dirk was very, very, abruptly unamused.

"I made your pictures better."

A pause.

Dirk wondered briefly if he should murder Dave. "Did you do it on another layer?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't ask that."

Dirk was going to murder Dave.

"Besides, that's okay. They're better now, anyway. Infused with double the Strider swag."

 

Somewhere not-every-deep inside, Dirk died. "What were you trying to write along the edge? Fnc?"

"Fuck. Because that was your first reaction when you saw the inferno, right?"

"I gaped, actually."

"Oh. I didn't wreck your other one too much, it still looks-"

It didn't look fine. At all. "Do you want a strife? Because you're asking for the sorest ass in the world tomorrow."

"Nah, I actually saved that one, here. What are those weird black lines at the bottom, by the way?"

"Water streams, blind kid. And now the last one? Is it still alive?"

"Nah, its corpse has been absolutely desecrated by me."

"If you're not joking, bad shit is going to happen."

"That one wasn't even good anyway, you like half-assed the rest of the city-"

"I don't know how to draw cities, cut me slack. It's better than you can do."

"Yo, do you  _see_ my glorious art over here? That well-placed 'fuck'?  _That's_ art, not your shitty scribbles. I'm capturing the essence of irony over here-"

Dirk elbowed Dave in the side, tugging the laptop from his hands.

"Oh."

"See? Do you even see my great art?" Dave called from where Dirk's elbow had connected into his face.

"Yeah, whatever, do you like them?"

"Huh? Me?"

"Who do you think I drew them for?"

"Nah, they're pretty shitty. Aside from the ones I improved."

Dirk ignored him. "I don't think I did a particularly good job. The burning apartment is supposed to be incredibly... iconic. It's what started this entire spiral of shit, anyway."

"Why are there no other buildings?"

"Tunnel vision, Dave. Artistic liberties."

"I hear excuses."

"Shut up, Dave."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might fiddle with the sizes a little, dunno.
> 
>  
> 
> I tried to draw. And failed. And crashed. And burned. I might add a few more later over here.


	13. 3f

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter of this arc.
> 
> We see some of Dirk's old snark seeping back, and his tendency to not answer questions.  
> I use 'fuck' about 4 times in the first few hundred words. I don't have a vocabulary.

Somehow, Dirk always seemed to end up at parties.

"It'll go swimmingly this time. You'll be like a fish in the ocean." The loud blaring nature of people all around seemed to disagree with Dave's statement.

By some convoluted twist of logic, Dave had decided that there was some fitting justice in dragging a reluctant Dirk to greet a certain black-haired, buck-toothed male.

Dirk just sort of stood there, eyes determinedly locked onto the floor from behind his shades.

"Sup Jacob, say hey." 

He swore Dave sounded  _smug._

"Oh, why hello! Now who is this lad beside you?"

Did Jacob sound a little jealous? My, would you look at that, all the fucks that Dirk could've given about the matter had _sauntered off into the horizon_.

He didn't know whether he was supposed to feel disappointed or relieved that Jacob had forgotten him. He still rather vividly remembered his cock-blocking session.

"Oh, he's my dick-sucking bro." Dave drawled. Dirk decided that later, Dave's ass was going to get kicked to the sky and beyond.

"Do you mean that-?" Jacob's eyes were wide and concerned and oh my fuck, how did he interpret that incorrectly.

"I'm his brother." Dirk corrected, with a silent warning glance at Dave.  _Keep screwing about and I'll smother you in your sleep._

"Oh, well, nice to meet you! I can't quite recall if we've met before!"

Somehow, Dirk had the nagging suspicion Dave had originally planned for Dirk to socially crash and burn. To hell with that, not at Jacob's feet. There was still the entire _rest of the party_ to get stomped beneath.

"We have. A pity you don't remember, it is indeed nice to meet my brother's boyfriend. I think you two are perfect together." Dirk said with all the sweetness he could muster. Fuck, he was internally dying from snickering. Dave and Jacob both spluttered. Hah! How the tables have turned!

" _Dirk,_ " Dave said with just as much diabetes as danger in his voice. "Let me show you around the party. Jacob, give us a sec."

From ten miles away, Dirk saw impending retribution rampaging down on him.

Dave dragged him through the crowd.  _Choo choo motherfucker,_ yelled the train to doomsville.

The music screamed, people gyrated their limbs wildly and called it dancing, and Dirk was already a thousand levels of done.

"Have fun, bro." Dave said into his ear, and then he was gone. 

Fuck. Unless Dirk wanted to look like a pansy, he wasn't going to go running after Dave.

Dirk was the idiot tied to the train tracks, and Dave was the one who left him there and then skipped off to places unknown.

He could do this, he could probably live through the next few hours. Dirk cautiously made his way through the throng, seeking a less crowded area. He didn't know how he'd live with bodies pressing down on him from all sides. Loud music was tolerable; loud people, on the other hand, weren't.

" _Hey, kiddo!"_ Someone literally roared into his ears and Dirk fought the instinctive reaction to stab them in the gut with his hand. "Care to try-" A face peeked into his vision and it was this giant grinning man, holding some sort of flyer.

"Nope." Dirk said quickly, and then he fled. Slipped out of those hands like an eel or some other slippery shit. 

He swore, he swore that Dave was probably watching him from abandoned corner and giggling away. Either that, or making out with Jacob. There was no salvation for Dirk, he was well and truly abandoned here in the sea of bodies.

The kitchen was filled with people taking hits and hits of who even knew what. Dirk's stress meter, on a scale of one to ten, was steadily rising to a nice seven.

"Man," Someone slurred to him before he could back out of the drug-filled place. "'S only thing I have, y'know?"

"No, I don't know." Dirk told them, and then fled the fuck out of there. He was starting to lose faith in Dave saving him. Perhaps he had been abandoned for good, under the guise of 'I'm helping you socialise.' It wasn't as though Dirk could come to actual danger in a party - right? 

He sifted his way past the dance floor to where people were just standing around drinking at a bar counter. The place was dimly lit in green, of all things, and there was a gentler lull of conversation. Dirk decided, after a moment, that he probably wasn't going to drink anything. He carefully pulled out one of the chairs and sat, observing the other party-goers. He probably looked like the biggest creep in the party, hiding his eyes and watching young ladies or something. He just wasn't interested in anything. 

There was a dainty little lady talking to another equally pale woman. "So, like, giant thing about Peter and his secretary. Yeaaaah, must've been fun for a little while, right? I mean, just call someone over to your office for a quick fuck." Dirk thought she was supposed to be demure, but her mouth seemed akin to a sewer.

He checked his shades and his emails, just for something to do. Urgh, there was so much time to burn. He wished he could just pick Dave up and they could roll back home, where he could kick Dave's ass senseless.

The bar counter was dirty and sticky; Dirk didn't particularly want to put his hands or elbows on in. Instead, he lifted a hand up to his shades and did his usual tinkering. Access the web, browse-

Huh, apparently Kan's store closed down. What happened there? He'd have to find her sometime, unless she was already dead. Then he'd go rattle the answers out of her strange husband. 

He closed the interface with a frown, and mulled over his thoughts as he watched the other people chitter around him. There were bits and pieces of conversation:

"-Irene was born yesterday! You should've seen her, she's  _so adorable-_ "

"-Honestly, I don't know how I can put up with him any longer."

"-they're real competitive, and influential. Pretty much have the entire city in their hold-"

"-shit as toaster exploded today, who the hell is even making electronics?"

"Hah, you think your toaster's bad? My  _television_ went up in flames."

Dirk noted another woman huddled over on the far end of the bar counter, eyes looking forwards but unseeing. Her life must be spiralling downhill, he thought. A little like his had once been. He wondered what he had looked like to other people around him. What had the first Rose thought when he confronted her? She had known, to an extent. She had remembered the game. With every re-incarnation, it seemed that they remembered less and less. That meant when Dirk recounted the events to them, less of it were their own memories, and more were imagined scenes.

He would be the only one to remember, one day. Everything he'd tell them would be based on their trust in him.

The thought was rather sobering. Perhaps he'd upload it all onto a chip one day, leave the story to its own confines in a dusty cupboard. Or he could rebuild Hal. But that seemed rather cruel, re-creating the robot to be a shadow of its former self, forever destined to carry a story it would've never experienced. Hal wasn't a robot, he was had a mind of his own, after all. 

Dirk paused to observe the lady and her now-empty glass. She swirled it, staring at the dregs.

Abruptly, a gentle hand on his shoulder startled him back into reality. The first thing he registered was that  _it was not Dave._ The second was the reminder that he needed to try stay civil.

"Darlin'." A wave of perfume clogged up his nose. "I'm gonna have t' ask you to keep your eyes off that woman." He turned to face this lady in way-too-high heels wearing a devil's grin. Her face was pale, like a dead man's, but her eyes were alight. She was also probably drunk, he decided. 

He was wearing shades, what the fuck. How was she supposed to know where he had been looking?

A thin red dress hung off her curved frame, and her nails were long and painted to match her clothing. In another person's eyes, she might've been pretty. "See, no one here is allowed to capture your eyes but  _me._ " She slid into the chair beside him. 

Dirk's stress levels: steadily rising. 

"I've had countless men looking at me all night, but I saw this 'lil pearl over in the corner alone and who am I to resist?"

He noticed, with increasing trepidation, that the hand she placed on his leg had a ring sparkling on the fourth finger. 

"C'mon songbird, don't be shy. Let me hear you sing."

His eyes darted left and right for signs of escape (no hint of Dave) but all the party-goers walked by without a glance. "Uh." He blurted, staring at the counter. "I'm gay." So smooth, Dirk, dolphin smooth. "I apologize." He tacked on.

Her expression morphed into one of surprise, but it was swept away relatively quickly. "Oh, no need to be sorry, hun. That's what my husband said too, but I'm sure he didn't mind just one taste."

She leaned forwards.

Dirk's stress levels: bursting out of the fucking scale and blasting off skywards. 

"A no is a no, ma'am." He muttered with increasing urgency, trying to lean away in his chair. "Please _keep your mouth off me._ " He turned to leap off his chair and vanish away into the rest of the party when-

" _What did you say to my wife?"_

The lying little skank.

A way-too-big hairy, sweaty man lumbered into view and Dirk _knew_ this woman had been a bad idea from the start. The guy with a too tight shirt blocked up all escape routes with his bulk.

"Gay little fishy won't take my kisses." The pale woman pouted, batting her eyelashes up at her husband. 

"Well." He rumbled. "Then he'll take mine."

**Dirk had no idea what in the honest flying fuck was going on in his life anymore.**

"Pucker up." The man grinned, and his breath hit Dirk like a bomb. Any second now he was going to throw self-control to the wind and land a kick in this man's face. Self-control, Dirk. Self-control. Dirk's eyes were locked onto the incoming threat of a mouth, he only just caught a flash of skin before there was a hand on his crotch. 

Nope to the fuck to the fucking nope  _nope_ ** _nope._  **" _Don't touch me._ " Dirk hissed as he threw himself off the chair and flash-stepped away, ducking under the big man's arm.

He immediately collided with someone else. Why did this night have to go so badly. 

It was Dave. His arms immediately came around Dirk, and much as Dirk loathed human contact, Dave was a warm reassurance. His brother looked ready to murder. 

"Touch my brother again and I'll skewer you." Well, apparently he was. He hadn't seen Dave this cold before. A few other people looked around at the impending showdown as electric tension leapt through the air.

"Oh? Want to try, _little baby man_?" Dirk watched Dave's hackles rise with the threat. 

"Jimmy," The woman silenced the man with a touch on the arm. "lay it off. We'll find some other fry." The duo gave them one last sneer before slinking off back into the dance floor, the woman hanging onto the larger man's arm as she laughed. 

Dirk snickered at the name 'Jimmy' _,_ and Dave shot him an irritated glance. "Thanks for saving me, my  _prince._ " Dirk drawled. Hell, if the night was filled with crazy, what could he do but join it? He felt intoxicated, somehow. "What could I ever do without you?" He couldn't help but smirk at Dave's bewildered expression. Dirk stood on his tiptoes and gave Dave a loud, wet kiss on the forehead.

Dave jerked away as if scorched. Dirk's poker-face, in the meantime, was still intact. Internally, he was crumbling with laughter. "Never do that again, if you care at all for my delicate sanity, don't slobber all over my face _._ "

Dirk only grinned. "And  _you_ left your poor princess alone in her tower, surrounded by persistent suitors."

"-Dave?" Jacob's wide-eyed face emerged into the green light as well, his eyes immediately locking onto Dirk's brother. "You disappeared for a second there, is everything alright?"

Dave's steely look melted. "Yeah, it's all cool. I'm thinking we might head home now." He gave Dirk a quick glance, as if he could read anything off the empty slate that was the other Strider. Apparently, somehow he could. "Dirk looks like he's had enough."

Dirk voiced his agreement. "Thanks for occupying my baby brother while I got molested by this party."

Jacob looked profoundly confused. Dirk mentally snickered, Dave glared. An elbow tried to find Dirk's side, but he caught it and instead landed a neat jab into Dave's stomach. Jacob's confusion was starting to dissolve into concern.

"Are these... a few of your Strider antics?"

"Ones I always beat Dave at-" 

Dave quickly cut in. Rude. "Yeah, they are. We really should get going now. Goodnight, Jacob."

Dirk looked away as they probably held hands and exchanged sloppy kisses. He made his way to the door, silently stewing as people brushed by. There was that depressed woman again, slowly drifting towards the door. She had deep bags under her eyes, and he could only wonder what had caused them. Directly behind her were two gossiping young ladies, gesturing animatedly. He could only wonder what had caused their excitement, too. 

The world was a pretty damn big place. 

Dave rematerialised at his side. "Thinking?"

"I know, it's a damn miracle that any thoughts are going through this brain at all. Normally shit just pops out, Athena style."

Dave snorted at the imagery. "Yeah cute." He fiddled a little, fingers tapping against one another. "You haven't really been making things these days though, huh?"

"Nah." Dirk said mildly. "You've been dragging me around the place."

The night breeze was chillier than the iciest chilly around, and the two Striders picked up their pace. "Haven't been dragging you around for the last few years, dude." Dave added, almost like an extra thought.

"What do you mean? Oh - no, I just haven't been thinking about encouraging this world to be anything like what... mine used to be. Guns, laptops, all rare. This place is behind."

"Why not Athena it up then, huh?"

Dirk paused, and stopped walking altogether. Dave stared back at him. "Spit it out." Dirk suggested.

"What are you talking about?" Dave asked, definitely not meeting Dirk's eyes from behind the shades. 

"You're twitchy and preoccupied as hell. Speak up."

"You're getting senile dude, the years are finally getting to you, don't know what you're talking about-"

"Do I look like I'm amused right now, Dave?"

"Yeah, look at you, laughing all the time. You're like the biggest clown I know, jeez. Forget robotics, go start a circus or-"

"Were you thinking about telling me that you're now Jacob's boyfriend?"

Dave just sort of opened his mouth, shut it, thought about his life, and opened his gob again. "Yeah."

"Am I supposed to be disappointed? Surprised? Jealous?"

"No, you're not," Dave started his fiddling again, and they both continued walking. "Just didn't know how you'd feel, y'know, being that king of Strider cool and all, I never know what you're thinking."

Dirk shrugged. "I don't really- Look, at this point the last thing I care about is loving someone. It's not even vaguely on my mind right now, nor will be for the next few years. I was the one would said no to you in the first place, I don't see why I'd be upset about you finding someone else."

"You were the one who cock-blocked when I first bought him over."

"Jake." Dirk said simply. "Fresh wounds and all sort of rocky emotion turbulence shit. Add another cheesy quote about true love."

"Striders and dorks, huh?"

"Something about the buckteeth and glasses, I think."

"Not shades?" Beneath the joking, Dirk sensed some actual hurt behind Dave's words.

"I'm not particularly picky. Before SBURB, there was literally no other dick I could hit on. During SBURB, I was too busy literally hitting imps and all sorts of other creatures."

Dave genuinely chuckled, and Dirk felt a surge of pride in making his brother laugh. "Whatever, it's good. I had my eye on that Jacob booty for years, anyway."

"My ass is the plushest, I don't know why it didn't catch your eye earlier."

"Didn't look at it until you'd like, wave it under my face when we'd strife or something."

"No wonder I always win."

\--

The troll pulled his hoodie closer around him, shoving his tell-tale grey hands into the pockets. 

 _Absolutely ridiculous,_ he told himself.  _Nothing in the database at all! Why the hell didn't they have the footage?_

 

Fortunately, he was good at things other than hacking. All the camera footage in the next two hours would be wiped when he went to snoop. The doors he needed would be open too. He ambled his way towards the police station, feeling electricity dance down his nerves as he watched a window pane neatly pop out of its ledge and settle itself onto the concrete. He hoped the hood would conceal the sparks dancing around his horns.

Otherwise, the street was empty. He crossed through the carpark and, with a little effort, hoisted himself through the now-glassless-window. Let the humans puzzle over that later. The office, thankfully, was empty.

A tingle down his spine told him that _something_ was going to go to shit. He shuddered. His mage instincts wouldn't be wrong, and there was no changing fate. 

He walked out of the room he had entered, turned right, and kept calmly walking until he came to the records room. The door was already open, he had unlocked and opened it a while earlier. Electronic locks weren't the wisest idea. 

He looked at the rows of shelves in the darkness, and blinked. They were probably sorted by date. He pulled out a small torch from his pocket and went shining his way down the shelves. Two years ago, five years ago, what sort of police station even kept records this old for this long?

All the records disappeared after five years, and he frowned at the little date plaque his torch shone on. He turned the light beam left and- oh.

There it was. The only record older than five years, huddled away in the corner. He squatted, pulled out the little tray and it slid out surprisingly smoothly. There was a stack of papers in there, and he put the torch in his mouth to leave his hands free. He turned them over to examine-

This wasn't what he was expecting to see. 

A shockingly clear image of a man in shades, katana flashing before him. Other humans and trolls snarled at each other, faces twisted by ferocity in contrast to the chilling concentration of the killer in the corner of the picture. All carefully preserved in this little snapshot of time. He could almost feel the heat and bloodlust of the moment.

He turned over the next one and he stopped breathing.

_No fucking wonder. This changes everything for me._

Numbly, he turned over another.

This time his eyes searched for the briefest moment before he dropped all the papers onto the floor. They drifted away without a sound.

Something pressed against his skull.

"Seen enough?"

He slowly turned his head to see his attacker, who was looming over him with gun to his head, halo'd by the light spilling into the room from the corridor. 

The night couldn't get enough of surprises, apparently. The hand holding the gun was grey. Mutant red eyes stared back at him. "I've killed way too many people to sweep this under the rug. I knew there were still people out there looking for this; you'll be the first troll to fall for this trap."

The dual-horned troll stared. "I know you." Was all he said. " _I know you._ Don't you recognise me? I'm _in_ there, I'm  _in that photo, what the fuck-_ "

"Shut your mouth!" The troll snarled back at him, but the squatting troll tilted his head so the torch in his mouth shone upon the photos scattered across the floor. There he was, there they both were, distant faces in the background, but undeniably them. A four-horned troll with angry sparks from his horns, a bright red-eyed short troll with sickles in his hands, and more that he recognised from dreams. "What were you here for?"

"I  _was_ here to pick up these photos for my employer, but not anymore."

"No?"

"Now? I'm going to kill him."

The troll seemed slightly surprised by his answer, as if he hadn't been prepared to kill, himself.

"He can't find out about _this_." The troll on the floor explained. _"_ The 'Angel'? He's not an angel at all. He's our  _prince._ "

Flat on the floor, frozen in a tiny unmeasurable amount of time, was the most telling photo of all.

Purple lightning danced in the eyes of humans and trolls alike. The Prince of Heart had walked the streets that day.

"No one ever knew," The reincarnated Sollux Captor hissed. "because no one ever lived to tell the tale. And _you_ , are going to help me kill Spades Slick."

\--

Dirk had bought the apartment next door and practically taken it over as his own living space. Yeah, he ended up screwing renting entirely. 

"Oh my fuck. This place is a maze, Dirk." Dave called from the other end of the room. He held a bag of takeout boxes, and stared apprehensively at the wires and blueprints and metal all over the place. "Isn't this a safety breach?"

"I don't think the owner of this building or our neighbours really care. He hardly batted an eye at the hole in the wall." Dirk shrugged and picked his way across the metal labyrinth where his brother was waiting. He picked up a rag and wiped his hands, before actually going to wash them.

"By the way," Dave said, opening one of the boxes and picking up a pair of chopsticks. Good ol' chopsticks. "I'm moving out in a week, got the address here." With his free hand, he waved a small slip of paper.

Dirk walked up to him, picked it up, and tore it to pieces.

Dave  _stared._ "Wasting precious paper there, dude." Was the only stupid thing he could think to say.

"I think this," He sat on a chair, pulling a carton towards him. "Is the point where we part ways."

"I- You're serious? You were being serious?"

Dirk nodded as he picked at his food. "I'd rather see you go on my own terms. You've still got a week," he added. "You can save your teary goodbyes for a little while."

\--

"I think we're both just as surprised that I turned on you."

The dual-horned troll crouched on the mobster's chest, claws digging into his throat. Other bodies lay strewn across the alleyway (his bodyguards, which the two trolls had quickly taken care of), and the mutant stood up on a fire escape, rifle still ready in his hands. 

"I fuckin' wonder." The man spat. 

"SGRUB, SBURB, ring any bells?" The mutant called from his perch. The man narrowed his eyes.

"'Course. Is there a problem with that? I remember a shit ton about those fucking games."

"Yeah, see, this is the part you don't get." The mutant made his way down the fire escape, pulling out and cocking a smaller gun. "We want to stay free."

\--

"Goodbye, my only friend!" Dave said dramatically, throwing a hand over his chest. "Will we ever meet again?"

Jacob stood outside the apartment, respecting the Striders' privacy.

"I don't think so." Dirk frowned. "I'd hate to... turn up to an empty apartment."

An unsettling silence fell over the two as they slowly digested the situation. "I get it, Dirk. I do get it."

\--

TA: your 2ecret2 2afe with u2

TA: be a liittle grateful riight ii 2tabbed noiir iin the throat to keep you free

TA: hone2tly what would you do wiithout u2

TT: The pictures don't matter.

TT: No one will believe that I'm still alive.

TA: noiir would've beliieved. he wa2 ready to go hunt you down

TA: we 2aved you we kept you free

TA: ju2t a head2 up

TT: I will never be free.

TT: I can tear out your soul, too. If you didn't fall to my blade or human hands that night, you would've stopped reincarnating.

TA: p222h am ii 2uppo2ed to be 2cared?

TA: don't forget that we're the one2 watchiing out for you

\--

"Can you promise not to go batshit nuts as soon as I step out of this door?"

Dirk gave Dave a small smile. "I can. This time, I can."

\--

TT: You live illegally on the tenth floor of the only apartment on Emerald road. 

TT: Actually, your tenant knows you're a troll. He just doesn't care, as long as you pay rent.

TT: What a practical man.

TT: Noir had hired you for seven years, and he'd actually started trusting you a little.

TT: You two had a small passive aggressive war, where you'd wait for eons before picking up each other's calls.

TT: The mutant works in the police force. Most of the officers are rather fond of him, and he works most of the paperwork jobs where he isn't seen.

TT: Otherwise he'd immediately be killed by the masses.

TT: You two are both mutants, actually. Both driven out of your troll city to come into hiding here _,_ because humans are weak. 

TT: Do you want me to continue?

TA: okay ii thiink iim good

TA: okay yeah ii giive iin

TA: how the hell diid you fiind all thii2 iinformatiion

TT: I've been watching you both. You said that you two were watching me and keeping me safe - you were wrong. I didn't step in to stop Noir because I knew you two would do it for me.

TT: I had my eye on the Angel's massacre case for a long time. The mutant, once Karkat, caught my attention first. I only started following you after I met Noir.

TT: I've been living for a long time now. I created this universe, and I am the last left to remember the ones we left behind. I won't be dying unless it's on my terms.

TA: oh

TA: 2o you're the 2urviivor

TT: I can tear out your soul, if you like. I can put you into a computer chip and you'll live forever in the network.

TA: yeah no thank2

TA: diid you not liisten to what ii said?

TA: ii want to 2tay free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of the first major arc.  
> Next is probably all Dave's POV, and it'll just be fluffy giggles in comparison to what's happened to far.
> 
> So all in all, there's probably five more to go? Liable to change.
> 
> I'd just like to explain Slick 2.0's last words and why Karkat 3.0 said what he said. Noir says that he still remembered SBURB and their games - he already knew who Sollux 2.0 and Dirk were, and also how they have their powers. He basically said that he really didn't give a shit, and he'd use it to his advantage anyway.  
> Karkat says "nope let us live our lives without having to be instructed and dragged along by powers and traits the world chose for us."


	14. 4a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up if you haven't already noticed, the chapter numbers correspond with Dave's lives.  
> Which means... rip lil' bro dave. Didn't even get a proper farewell before I kicked him out of the fic and killed him off. 
> 
> You can start reading from this point in the story and everything will still make sense.
> 
> Pace here drops to a crawl.

The world kept on spinning. Thirty five years passed in the blink of an eye, and the continent found itself to be the one most technologically advanced in the world. (Mainly because most of the other cities were swimming somewhere near the bottom of innovation). On the other side of the globe, there was even a human city still under a strict monarchy rule and muskets. It was a different era there, it seemed. Here, at least, they had movies. 

At this point, people yet looked up to the rocks in the sky and wondered if they were possible to reach. Every community looked to wires and technology with reverence - all but _their_ city. See, they had the inventor DStri. He created things beyond imagination and fed their hungry minds tidbits of information that sent other companies into wild sprees. Automation? Solar power? Smart phones? Sleeker cars?  _Cooking droids_? He had them all, yet he was a one man team, private producer. If he had a company and sold his designs, Dave imagined, his income would've increased tenfold. But maybe he just enjoyed robotics like how Dave enjoyed creating movies. Of like mind, he supposed. The enigmatic man (or woman) never appeared publicly. Never showed his face - he was just their guiding hand to the future.

In the meantime, Dave was pacing irritably as his cast and crew ran around on set. Inside a large clean warehouse, they rushed around with trolleys and cameras - and basically shit was everywhere. He had several different staircases sitting around inside, some breakable and others solid. A partition stood in one of the far corners to give his cast privacy to change. In contrast to the lights hanging around on stands, fading sunlight filtered in from the skylights, illuminating dust. 

He'd need to turn on the warehouse lights soon. Evening was quickly approaching-

Was that somebody sitting up on the ceiling beams? Eating from a small paper carton? Dave squinted from behind his shades. None of his men seemed to have noticed the lone figure, eating away at his food, face hidden behind a cap. Dave shrugged it off. The man was on private property, and if he fell, it wouldn't be Dave's responsibility. Besides, he got himself up there in the first place. Dave had no idea how the hell he'd help him down. The director put the matter out of his mind.

Despite his snapping demeanour, they were actually ahead of schedule today. Dave watched as a stunt double went tumbling down the stairs. It was a decent fall, he supposed. It passed his standards. Captured the clumsiness of missing a step and that moment of 'oh shit'.

Someone timidly tapped on his shoulder. It was one of the actors, Callan, wearing long mascara. Although he was short, the fluttery pink gown he wore barely reached his knees. The actor gestured at the offending dress.

"Strider, it appears to be a little short."

Dave scrutinised the article. Liable for flashing, shorter than he'd originally imagined, but it was fine. All of that would add to the dramatic irony of the film.

"Great, if it disturbs you so much, wear a pair of flowery shorts underneath."

"But Strider, this is scandalous-" Absolutely trivial.

"You've already talked to the costume designer. She told you it's fine.  _Listen_ to your superiors."

He turned away, indicating that the issue was not up for debate. Who cared about the dress, it really didn't matter whether it was long or short. Either way he could bullshit in some 'ironic' reason.

Someone tapped rather firmly on his shoulder again, and this time he whirled around. "I will set your dress on  _fire_ and then you can strut around _naked, Callan._ "

Instead of a short little actor, however, he found himself nose-to-nose with another set of impenetrable black shades. His eyes immediately drifted to the bright orange cap and back down to the pointed sunglasses. Wonderful, just great. Some wannabe impostor who had somehow discovered their shooting location. Dave had just snarled at him, too. Pale blonde hair peeked from the edges of the cap, and a stony face was too close to Dave for his liking. Dave quickly shied his eyes away, at his... spats? If this man was a journalist, Dave wouldn't even know how to feel.

"This is private property." Dave said. "Please leave before I have to forcibly evict you." On second inspection, perhaps the man wasn't an impostor after all. The only similarity between the two seemed to be the shades. All the other physical traits could've been deemed coincidental, like the pale hair. It didn't look dyed.

"Aren't I recognised?" The man spoke in smooth monotone, carrying only the subtlest rise and fall of speech. Dave found it oddly soothing for some reason, like the rain. "Is this Dave Strider?" His voice caressed Dave's name as though he'd said it a thousand times before, and Dave watched the man's mouth set itself in a faint frown. 

"More famous than Barbie, porn stars, you name it. Right here, Dave Strider. The man who made all the world pick movies up into their waiting arms. I might as well _be_ Barbie. Or a porn star." Dave spread his hands, and he knew somehow that those eyes behind the shades were drinking him in. Dave wasn't sure if he was supposed to be creeped out or no.

(Some part of his mind whispered that yes, they had met before.)

"How old are you?" The cap-wearing man asked him, face still utterly unreadable. That completely blew Dave's creeper theory out of the water. He didn't even know his age, Dave wasn't sure if he was supposed to be offended.

"Late twenties. Nearly thirty." Dave told him, before deciding that enough was enough. He'd entertained the stranger for too long already. "Now that I've answered your questions, please get out."

The man stood there, stock-still. He looked almost angry, intense ('almost' because the man's face hardly changed). Had Dave said something wrong? Was his heart broken that Dave was too old for him or something? He looked around his early twenties. Dunno. There should've been nothing wrong with his age. Not that Dave was even considering that, what the fuck. This guy looked  _ridiculous._ He didn't know how he didn't notice it at first glance, but that was the most **stupid** getup Dave had ever had the misfortune to see. The guy managed to wear the retarded, societal-norm defying outfit like it was his second skin. Popped collar, unnecessarily pointed shades, long black pants, and eating from a carton? Must've lived in a crumbly hovel, unused to the bright lights. Although, must be nimble enough to climb his way up the struts.

"I was looking for another Dave Strider. It seems he isn't around." Woah, now, what the hell? There _was_ no other Dave Strider. Dave had literally just introduced himself point five milliseconds ago. His very face screamed: 'I'm Dave Strider and proud of it,' and this random, trespassing man was just going to spit all over his shoes? Hellll. Weren't no way he was putting up with  _this._ Now he was just wasting his time. 

"That's enough. Leave. I don't need your introductions." The director put his hands on the man's shoulders and spun him around to face the warehouse exit. He needed to get back to his set, not be bothered by some shade-wearing, odd man. "Goodbye, good luck finding your other Dave." He said, irritated, with a small push.

The strange man left without another word.

\--

His apartment was a lovely place free of his worldly issues. As soon as Dave Strider stepped in, he felt the stress of the day slip off his shoulders and slink off into the sunset. It was like this everyday. This was  _his_ place,  _his_ haven. He never even took women back here, this was just him (plus his droid, he supposed), and occasionally his close friends. But the DiStri droid wasn't really an intrusion on his personal space. It just sat there and... did what machines did when they weren't needed. The little screen near the top often showed a sleeping face. His was a multi-purpose bot, but Dave used it mostly to generally vacuum around the apartment, dust, and act like a maid. It also kept a good heat-movement-sensor eye on the apartment when he was gone, sitting there and dutifully watching the door. 

So why the hell was there some shitty mix playing inside the room? It sounded strangely familiar, and Dave just guessed that he must've accidentally left something playing in the morning. Couldn't have been a burglar. A thief would do more than just leave a record playing. Besides, the DiStri droids were known (and expensive, his mind added helpfully) for their reliability. He left it playing, and it quickly faded into background noise.

He shucked off his suit, put his shades aside, and made a beeline for the shower. He had some sort of late dinner date that night, with Jade. Rosina was tagging along too. She was more or less his personal assistant. And secretary. And manager. And literally everything. That woman was a god (not a goddess, just a god) and what could Dave do but obey her? Sometimes, though, he swore she led him around on a string for her personal amusement. It wouldn't be new. She was certainly that type of woman.

The warm spray of water served only to relax his muscles further. He would only have time for a quick rinse before darting off to dinner. Filming, as usual, took quite a while. He had gotten off early today (some of the cameras had blown, he'd need replacements); sometimes he was forced to stay the night at hotels on the other side of the city, where they shot. Well, good on him. The fact that they were ahead of schedule was a miracle in itself. Rule 1 in life, things always costed more and took longer than you expected. 

He stepped his way out of the shower, drying himself and strutting around in the glorious clothing that was absolutely nothing at all. The DiStri droid buzzed around, its round little form vacuuming up the dust in his room. It carefully avoided his desk. Smart little machine. His suit that he had casually thrown aside earlier was also resting on the back of his desk chair. Dave had to admit, it was a wonderful invention. Even the design behind it was admirable. He could appreciate what had probably been an internal struggle between dexterity of form and cuddly appearance, resulting in this round thing on wheels that had two multi-tooled hands and a screen across the front. DiStri made a range of products, actually. Computers prices had plummeted in relation to their cost of production, and their city had happily exported their wares overseas. Those other manufactures took them apart, marvelled at the inner workings, and made to reproduce the technology. DiStri had given his gift all around the world. How saintly.

Apparently, Dave had heard, that the same was not true for the DiDroids. When taken apart, the things melted all their circuitry in an instant. He didn't know why DiStri had made that choice, but it was probably actually some very vital decision that blew right over Dave's simple movie-directing head. He picked up one of his well worn dress shirts, still eyeing the droid as it rolled around the room on its wheels, taking its time as it hunted down dust like a human sniffing for trolls. Or vice versa. 

From him getting home to plopping his plush rump and waiting in traffic, it had taken a good whole hour until he pulled up at the restaurant. He looked up at the lavish place. Fine dining it was. Fine dining it  _always_ was, actually. He couldn't remember the last time he'd needed to stop and chew on a greasy, hastily thrown together burger, or drank anything that wasn't intoxicating or water. The woes of adulthood, indeed. The taste of fast food was long forgotten amidst all the other shit in his head clamouring for his attention.

He swaggered into the place with all the sway in his walk of a man with a dreadfully large ego. Make way, Dave Strider coming through. Most diners, however, weren't playing attention to him. Some of them were minor or major celebrities themselves. 

He was quickly directed to where he spotted Rosina sitting primly at a four-seated table. This woman, always early. Her small hands were neatly folded upon one another, and she looked up at him with an expectant smile. She had her usual black attire going, with a dark dress hanging down to her ankles and black hairband.

"Good evening, Mr Strider. I hope you are faring well?" She asked him as he pulled out a chair opposite her.

"We don't really need pleasantries, Rosina." He said with a wave of his hand. They'd all known each other for years and years. "I know it fulfils your burning desire to talk as if you've screwed a dictionary, but you literally said hi this morning over the phone."

"I didn't know we were permitted only one greeting per day." She said mildly, raising an eyebrow. Oh woman, it was  _on._ "Do you have some personal vendetta against dating dictionaries, Strider?"

"Having a relationship with an inanimate object is a sure sign of psychopathy." He adjusted his imaginary psychiatrist spectacles as he peered over them to look at her. "You might want to get that checked. My office is open to you any day, Ms Lalonde, be sure to pop on in." 

"I will. To usurp your position, no less. Despite what you may think, you do require a competent psychiatrist to successfully run a business." The little woman was flinging dangerous shots, and the two shared a smirk before Rosina's eyes quirked up to a figure approaching behind Dave.

"Hey!" Jade beamed from behind Dave's chair, making her way to sit. He turned in his seat and  _stared_. She was dressed wonderfully, eyes bright, and trademark black dress. She also wore a shining necklace (one he had 'ironically' gifted her) with a picture of the three of them sharing a group hug. He noticed, however, that she seemed to be watching Lalonde closely. The blonde woman in question had one of her smuggest grins stretching over her face.

What was going on? Was there some prank he was unaware of?

They ordered and ate, Strider and Jade scarfing down their food as Lalonde delicately tasted portion by portion, as though she didn't go fine dining every second day and needed to relish the taste. Lalonde did have jobs aside from managing Dave, he just wasn't entirely sure what they were (and he didn't particularly want to know, anyway. She was probably an editor) and she had wealth of her own, that Dave chose wisely not to question. Jade, in the meantime, ran one of the world's largest on-the-go food cooperations. There were plenty of people who needed something they could just chuck into a microwave and eat, and she supplied that. He influence spread to regular baked foods too. Sometimes she tried to burst her way through his door with an armful of cookies in hand. He could see why there were the constant rumours that he and Jade were dating. They were all very comfortable around one another. 

The night progressed slowly, as though in preparation for some ulterior motive Dave was unaware of. Jade and Rosina kept glancing at each other too, sharing looks now and then. It was really starting to brittle his nerves. They spoke oddly, as though on edge and without their regular vigour. 

It felt like a puzzle piece, this. Some new extremely confusing mystery that Dave didn't think he liked. He just had yet to see the rest of the picture-

A hush fell over the restaurant, and all three heads turned to follow the commotion. Or rather, the lack of it.

Dave froze. No. There was no  _way._  

There was no conceivable way that this should've been allowed to happen in the universe.

Mr Spikey Sunglasses stood out like a sore thumb. Like a thumb that had been mercilessly smashed with a hammer and then drawn upon in bright fluoro. Like a thumb that had been stuck onto somebody's kitchen counter, with no business being there.

Capman weaved his way through the tables, casually waving aside a waiter who tried to talk to him about his absolutely lousy, out-of-place, utterly inappropriate attire. There was this deep sinking dread in Dave's stomach, which grew and writhed as Capman continued closer to their table. He was oblivious or something, because  _everyone_ was staring at his stupid face but he _kept sauntering onwards_.Don't come closer, Dave mentally chanted, gluing his eyes on his food as though not looking would've saved him from the societal death that was Capman. Don't associate your weird tendencies with me, Capman, just leave. This place ain't for you, just go back to your cartons and shitty food.

Dave looked up for a moment, and that was his downfall. Capman must've caught Dave's fear flicker on his face, because abruptly he changed his course and walked right up to their table.

The director opened his mouth to insist that he was absolutely in no way invited to their dinner, but Rosina bet him to it. "Good evening to you too, Bro."

**These demons were all in cahoots.**

'Bro', Capman, sat down in the last vacant seat and _everybody in the restaurant was staring_. The other three seemed completely unaffected, lounging back as Dave mentally crumbled. This was, this- He didn't even have words. He gave up. Why, this table was interesting indeed, the perfect blend of browns and reds to suit the pink glow of the diner, complimenting the black seats. How intriguing. 

He glanced up. Capman was looking at Jade and Rosina, so he allowed himself to relax. At this point, the other restaurant-goers had turned back to their food too, the spectacle now past. 

"Dinner?" Rosina offered. Dave noticed that not only he, but everybody on their own small table was closely analysing Capman. The man was all sharp angles, pointed shades and hair that must've required a fortune of gel. His build, too, reminded Dave of a sculpture - the rugged kind that was created with clean slices but still resembled a man of stone. It contrasted his voice, Dave realised, recalling his earlier smooth tones.

Stone. Dave thought that was a few fitting descriptor for the man. He looked utterly unmovable and unfeeling, with edges easy to prick yourself upon. But stones, too, could be moulded and shattered. It just took effort.

His attire looked almost _too_ perfectly fucking retarded. As though, mechanically, with a checklist, he had gone ahead and ticked off every way he could defy society and shoved it all onto himself. And the worst part was, he still  _rocked it_. That didn't mean he looked good, that just meant that he wore it as though it was meant to be, utterly nonchalant and not at all fazed. Dave suspected he could've shoved Capman into a  _tutu_ and he'd still act as he did - an utter douche. And creep.

"Thank you Rose, but I've already eaten." Capman told her. The name drew Dave's eyes up to Lalonde, and to his utter shock, she was smiling _._ A genuine little curve of the lips. 

"Rose?" Dave asked, and he found that the name sounded so  _right._ Like it was perfectly shaped to fit on his tongue and it rang these bells inside him that whispered of... something. Darkness, bright colours, and a glimpse of a colossal, sprawling universe. 

"It has recently became my name." She said, watching his wide eyes with amusement. "I would prefer for you two to begin referring me by it."

Capman observed silently. Dave suddenly felt incredibly judged, as though those (assumably) stone cold sharp eyes behind those dark lenses were cataloging his every feature. He was grateful for his shades. Capman was scrutinising them all, as though they were the puzzle and he was the anomaly trying to fit in. The question was - would he tear them apart to accommodate him, or would he change to fit?

To start off, he could ditch the popped collar.

Dave was going to interrogate the hell out of Rosina later.  _Rose,_ his mind helpfully supplied.

"So why the hell are you here." Dave asked Capman, pointing an accusatory wineglass, armed with a glare. This guy was intruding on _everything_. His work. His private life. He had also somehow usurped his way into Rosina's trust, and he was waving it all in Dave's face. 

Capman met his gaze cooly. Shade v shade, it was _on_. "It'd be rude for me not to turn up to a dinner I was invited to."

Dave: -10 hitpoints. "You think it'd be  _rude_ to not follow the dress code, or to eat before you _came to a dinner._ "

Dirk: Absolutely no change whatsoever. "You saw me finishing off my only meal three hours ago. Rose Lalonde here didn't even expect me to eat."

Dave changed tack, but he couldn't quite believe the words he heard; Capman looked fairly healthy. "Doesn't explain your stupid-" Dave raised his eyebrows. "Wig hair or lack of a suit."

"Oh," Capman said casually. Here, Dave was expecting him to pull some giant douche card and say 'i dont care what society thinks of me' like an oversized teenager whining about being rebellious, but then- "That was to irritate you. It seems like it worked."

He had expected something legitimate. He really had. Some long convoluted explanation about how Capman was just a dick trying to shit on the rest of the population, but no, Dave was wrong. Capman just wanted to piss off Dave and nobody else. That was it. Dave was done. Life was filled with a heap of stupid crap and now Capman danced on top of that pile. 

"Why."

"I think he looks alright." Jade giggled. Dave waved her off a little irritably. No, Jade. You are not allowed to think that Capman looks 'alright'.

"Maybe it's just my attitude. Maybe I have an ulterior motive." Capman shrugged. "Either way, I don't give out answers."

Dave's conclusion was that Capman wasn't a _stone_. Capman was a fucking solid uncut diamond twisted into the most ridiculous, unsolvable puzzle.  

"Okay, then, why did hell did Lalonde invite you?"

"He asked to be." Rosina said. 

"That's cool!" Jade beamed.  "I think he's cool. I don't know what you're talking about, Dave. I mean," She stared at Capman's chest and his small shirt. "his dress sense is fine."

Jade just had the tendency to be too nice, Dave decided. Capman was a horrible, horrible man. (He was probably thinking this due to the fact that Capman's terrible attire had hurt him most.) "Then why did you ask to be here?" 

Capman leaned back against his chair, looking at though he had all the right in the world to be there. This guy was pushing _all_ of Dave's buttons. "I saw your smug face on television and decided that this boy needed to be schooled." Dave was practically thirty, a young director with a promising career, and here he was being called a boy by someone who looked like they had stepped out of the dumps of society. "I came here all the way to invite you to a strife."

Dave needed a second to digest that, before he dissolved into laughter. " _You_? Fight _me_? What makes you think I'd give up the time to crush you?"

"Dave is rather well-known for his exceptional fighting ability." Rosina said with narrowed eyes, now watching Capman suspiciously. Dave had no idea where she stood in terms of Capman alliances. She seemed to flicker from supportive to antagonistic.

"You think you're high and mighty." Capman explained. "I'm here to knock you down a peg."

"What makes you believe you can." If anything, Capman was the egotistical one here. He had his fingers laced, hands in his lap, and Dave bet that Capman's feet were itching to prop themselves up onto the table.

"I already have, haven't I?"  _Fuck._  "I walked in here wearing exactly what you despised and you could do nothing to stop me." He smirked. "You can't stop me, but you can prepare." Capman stood from the table, and Dave realised in that instant just how tall and broad-shouldered Capman was. Dave also noticed a sword sheath at his side - did this man think that he could beat Dave at what Dave was a  _master_ of? "I'll find you later, Strider." He sauntered out of the restaurant, heads following his departure. 

Dave snorted into his glass. "What a joke."

Rosina said nothing. Jade was still watching the entrance as if suspicious that Capman would burst right back in through the doors. 

"I would suggest that you take his challenges rather seriously." Rosina- Rose finally frowned. "He is a formidable man."

"Yeah, and how do you know him?" Dave gave them each a look, one that Rose met head on and one where Jade stared at the table. "How on freaking earth do you  _both_ know this random dude who might just be plotting to stab all of us? Don't even say he's trustworthy." Dave cut Rose off before she could even speak. "I saw you looking at him with sharpish eyes, too."

He literally _felt_ Rosina consider and judge him. He knew those cogs in her head were weighing up the consequences of telling him anything. Typically, she, Jade and Dave would share everything together, this must've been a new situation for her, too. "His motivations are true. He came to me one day, seeking audience, and requested my aid in meeting you."

There Dave's eyebrows went, off into the dark starless sky. Pchooo.

"You actually helped him." He said slightly incredulously. "And you let Jade in on it, too."

She nodded. "It took him a few weeks to convince me."

"He actually convinced you." He repeated in the same tone. One of his best friends had just decided to invite a stranger into his life. She had no  _right_ to do that, for fuck's sake. Couldn't she see that he hated Capman? Capman was rude, insufferable, and the most cocksure man Dave had ever met save himself. 

"He only needed to prove one fact. The evidence eventually... was undeniable." She finally broke their gazes, worry marring her brow. "I am beginning to question my choices." 

"You better be questioning your choices, god damn. How much does this obsessed stalker know about me?"

"Dave." Jade suddenly cut in. "Don't you dare make Rose feel worse about herself when you don't even know how he convinced her."

"But there's no ' _one thing'_ that'd make anybody trustworthy at all." Dave protested. "There's literally nothing, don't even-"

"If it'd set you at ease, then yes, I will go further track him." Rose said. "As of yet, I haven't had the need to, because I know he would not wish ill for you. But his judgement... can be flawed."

"Oh yeah, haha. Are you going to tell me that he doesn't want to hurt me because he actually wants to keep me or something? Yeah real cute, it's not like I'll be hurt at all if I'm chained to his bed like a little torn puppy."

"A romantic relationship, I believe, is not at all what he's after."

He fought the urge to leap to his feet. "Then he's just a fucking crazy stalker that you've  _let into my life._ He came in when I was at work, shit all over me. He came in when we were supposed to have time together, shit all over our dinner. Did you tell him where I lived too? Was he the one who put on this shitty music I found playing in my apartment because _you_ let him in?"

" _Dave!_ " Dave shut up instantly. It wasn't his fault, Jade was naturally scary. "Leave Rose  _alone._ I don't want to hear anymore of your whining. You're supposed to be a celebrity right? You should be used to stalkers and stuff! Jeez, stop attacking her!"

The director felt his adamance and anger wilt. "Fuck, sorry, Jade, Rose-"

"It's quite fine." She said, although with a grateful look in Jade's direction. "But Dave, you should understand that even had I not cooperated, he would've found you."

"What do you mean? He couldn't have sat down with me at a leisurely dinner."

"He _wouldn't_ have. Instead, he would've been in your apartment, having already invited himself to your home. I do not know his many faces, but I know a few things. One, that he intends you no harm. Two, that he is far more intelligent than you credit him for. He was not inviting you to a strife. He was warning you."

Dave stared back at Rose. "No one challenges me, not with the sword _._ "

"Dave, you don't know who this man is."

\--

The first thing Dave did when he closed the door to his apartment was go and locate the record that was somehow still playing. His turntable set was off, as was his laptop and CD player and literally  _everything_. Although he initially had thought the music had been playing from the stereos in each room, he was wrong there, too. He gave up and began readying himself for bed.

It turned out to be the DiDroid.

Dave, in his bedroom with nothing but boxers and a shirt, squatted and squinted at the innocent-looking bot. It seemed to tilt its round body up to stare back at him curiously (The screen read: ◕ ‿ ◕ ?). 

"My cute lil' slave, eject whatever the hell you're playing." It seemed to think about that for a while, letting its AI mind process the command. Finally, a slot opened up across its centre and a legitimate vinyl record slid out. 

"Holy shit, you can play actually these?" He picked the thing up and strode over to one of the shelves in his room, placing it near the bottom where there was a convenient gap. The DiDroid followed him, registering that it was being talked to. 

 _I can do many things,_ the words scrolled across its screen. _For example, I can be used to saw a new doorway through a wall. I can also be used to make a peephole instead!_

Dave snickered and patted the thing on the head. Or body. It didn't really have a head. 

_But of course, it has to pass my morality code._

Dave paused. DiStri had made a morality code for his bots. He was really a creator, then. Did he have the right to decide what could be done and what couldn't? Well. Dave supposed that companies and the government already did that, restricting the uses of drills so everyone couldn't just drill into people's buildings. Laws. Yeah, they were called laws.

He felt like he was toeing the line of this gigantic morality debate and  _hey there_ he was just going to back away from that massive tripwire.

As if on cue, his phone on his desk pinged. 

\-- tentacleTherapist [ TT ] began pestering turntechGodhead [ TG ] --

TT: Something rather interesting happened just now. 

TT: I think it'd warrant your attention.

TG: yo rose

TG: so im looking at this conversation right now and there just this something thats catching my eye

TG: this wild unknown handle hiding in all the colours as if it could hide from me

TG: i have eagle eyes

TG: saw it like an eagle sees a tiny little mouse in a giant field

TG: like that mouse was waving a bright dick flag or something and its just so fucking obvious

TG: did you think your handle change was stealthy

TT: Hello to you too, Dave.

TG: youre a whole new person now rose

TG: i dont even know who you are

TG: who is tentacle therapist

TG: who am i talking to

TT: I take that you haven't organised camera replacements yet?

Well, no. He hadn't. He didn't actually need those camera replacements, as the only particularly vital one that had blown today had been one of their trolley cameras. The trolley itself had fallen apart, and the camera's frame rate kept dropping. What a piece of shit. 

TG: you know me too well

TG: what would i ever do without you oh great god rosi

TG: did you already contact shitcorp for their cameras 

TT: You needn't flatter me. I already have made arrangements.

TG: youre my god

TG: but honestly shitcorp is so shit

TT: The firm's called Shootcorp.

TG: but every camera out there is so bad they seem good in comparison

TG: and i want good cameras

TG: i want the best cameras

TT: Wouldn't having terrible ones be 'ironic'?

TT: Or at least lighter on your budget?

TG: no no no you got the definition of irony all messed up

TG: i want it to be so crisp and perfect

TG: the audience needs to see every minute detail of the film itll be like a craving

TG: its symbolism rose

TG: the deeper meaning

TT: I wasn't aware your films had deeper meanings.

TG: they dont 

TG: im just saying it here for dramatics

TG: it represents society and how we pour so much money and focus on things that are utterly meaningless

TG: im actually insulting them all right under their noses

TG: under their fat fat noses

TG: 'look at how much money im blowing on this shit as film'

TG: 'look at how much money youre blowing on watching this shit as film'

TG: im subtly telling them that theyre just wasting all their cash 

TG: i mean they could spend it on other things like that popular troll trust foundation

TG: like i do except well i dont do it publicly

TT: So you're saying that you're emphasising the fact that society wastes money.

TT: By wasting money.

TT: You're painting yourself very morally questionable here, Dave.

TG: at least i know i am

TG: and besides hey look at this

TG: stupid people are paying me money so i can put it to good use

TG: im doing wonders for society

TT: I think you just enjoy filmmaking, Dave.

TG: youre right

TG: you found me

TG: im actually just practising for things to say in my interviews

TT: Dave. Don't say those things in your interviews.

TG: yes maam

TT: Also, you should know that the arrangement wasn't actually with Shootcorp.

TG: wait what

TG: no shitcorp is the best out there

TG: you cant go getting me shitty cameras

TG: i know you dont agree with my irony but dont do this

TT: 'Shitcorp' is not, in fact, the most capable camera maker out there.

TG: no there is literally no other seller

TT: I beg to differ.

TG: who else would actually make decent cameras and still get any sort of profit

TG: even shittyshootcorp makes guns on the side and thats really weird

TG: unless youve found a private man

TG: whyd you suddenly go looking for private producers rose

TT: He came to me.

TG: its probably tripped to fuck up

TG: cant trust private producers at all

TT: I think you'll trust this one.

TT: Have you ever heard of DiStri?

Dave dropped his phone. 

The world laughed at him, because then his DiDroid rolled on over to pick it up for him.

TG: youre kidding

TT: It would be a rather cruel joke if I were.

TT: But no, I am not joking at all.

TG: holy shit

TG: i

TG: holy shiit

TG: now im going to make this the best fucking movie ever 

TG: just for him

TT: How much are you willing to fork out for these cameras, Dave?

TG: as much as need be

TG: well

TG: you know what i mean any reasonable number

TT: He claims here in this email that he might send someone tomorrow morning to demonstrate the capabilities of the camera.

TT: Hmm.

TT: I hope you can hold yourself together to form a coherent sentence when/if you do meet him or his rep.

TT: Dave?

TT: Are you still alive?

TG: yeah yeah im here oh my god

TG: i dont even have words for this

TG: i cant sleep tonight

TG: this is it

TG: im finally famous

TT: You've already won several film awards. Most of the world knows you.

TG: distri is god

TG: well so are you but im just

TG: im staring at the didroid right now and wondering if itll give me the answers to the universe

TT: Yes, Dave.

TT: Make sure you clean your pants before he visits, if he does.

TG: what

TG: when were you this suggestive

TT: ;)

TG: what

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

TG: i dont know if i should love or hate you 

Dave numbly set his phone down, staring at the screen as though disbelieving.

"What." He said, trying to confirm that he was indeed still existing and this was still real life. He looked at his DiDroid. "Bro, I don't know anything anymore either." He sat in silence, and the two contemplated each other. "Yeah. I'm just going to go to bed. Goodnight."

 _Goodnight._ The droid said, and he gave it a pat before it rolled out of the room. 

He threw himself onto the bed and rolled around in the blankets. "Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit."

Now that was over, Dave stood, dusted himself off, closed the door and

_failed to notice that the record was no longer on his shelf._

\--

Most people aren't aware when they're dreaming. Dave was not normally a lucid dreamer, either. Today- Tonight, rather, seemed to be a little different.

For one, it was very, very empty.

He was wearing his standard 'i dont know my surroundings' pose, something ingrained into him from the sheer amount of times he had stood swarmed with reporters and decisions. Arms behind his back. Feet together. He didn't usually look up, but in this place it was a little difficult to discern what was up and what was down. Everything just seemed to be white. If it weren't for his shadow, he'd be convinced there was no ground at all. 

The air was so silent, so still - as though not a thing lived here. They did not live, they did not breathe, they only  _were._

There seemed to be a black dot on the horizon. Aimless, he began to approach. 

Squinting, he saw what he thought was a grave. There was some mound and a cross through it, another lump on top. His footsteps began to quicken, heart rate leap because some part of him was growing steadily more anxious.

As dreams do, things warped in an instant.

A sudden cacophony of screeches and flapping wings, sound in silence, black on white; crows materialised around him.

 **Caw!** _(again!)_  

They trailed away into the white sky. 

_**Caw!** (he's seen!)_

There was one left, still sitting on the cross. But it was not a cross at all - it was a sword hilt.

The bird cocked its head and stared before giving a loud cry.

_**Caw!** (we've seen!)_

A chill ran up Dave's spine. That was no bird. In those depthless eyes he swore it could be human.

In a flurry, it took off to join its peers.

 

Dave was alone with a body.

 

It was a man. His cap was still on, shades right where there were, and a sword through his chest. A body that seemed to be 'Bro' in his later years.

He was struck by the sudden impulse to fall to his knees and hold this man close to his chest. He was overwhelmed by the need to  _cry._ Dave Strider didn't cry. He never shed a tear unless it was a single, manly, ironic tear. Why now, did just want to weep and call- call-? call (a name that was right at the tip of his tongue)-? _  
_

The name slipped out of his mind and he was left grasping at empty air. All he could do was stand and look upon the body with this hollow ache in his chest. All he could do was stand there and wonder why he hadn't saved this man at his feet. He did not know his name. He only knew he had failed to save this life. 

He felt as though a part of his heart had been missing, and now he'd been shown its torn pieces.

Time trudged on by and Dave did not care. Time trudged on by and it meant nothing. He removed his shades and stood and grieved for as long as his mind could weep. 

Air stirred behind him -  _someone was there -_ and Dave turned to see someone walking away.  _That_ was Bro. Tousled blond hair, the edges of triangular shades; but now he appeared to be wearing a sleeveless shirt.

"Hey!" Dave reached out and found that his feet were glued to the ground as surely as stone. Bro did not turn, he kept leaving. "Wait up- don't-!" He did not know why he called out. 'Bro' was a stranger, yet... Dave could not move, he could not  _stop him from dying._ "Don't leave again!"

The dead body behind him exploded into crows.

 **_Caw!_ ** _(again!)_

He could not see for the black tornado that surrounded him. They disappeared into the skies (where he could not go, not yet) and soon Dave was left with only the white and a sword imbedded in the earth.

His shadow cast long.

As did the sword's.

They neatly overlapped across his dark form's chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirk will not spy on Dave with his DiStri drones. Not something I'd make him do.
> 
> At first I was going to make Jade's name Jaide. but to be frank, it gave me the shivers from just how awkward it felt to slaughter her name.


	15. 4b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dirk u cheeky shit.
> 
> also my comp crashed when writing... i... several entirely new iconic scenes actually formed when I rewrote it  
> wtf can't i stay consistent  
> 0 plot

Dave woke up, face down in his pillow (oh my god why so comfortable i never want to leave), and the first thing he registered was some sort of loud beat rattling around the place. What? It made him think of warm times and stressless lives. It made him think of-

Oh wait, it was that fucking record again.

The DiDroid pushed open the door and the volume jumped even higher.

The director turned his head and cracked open a bleary eye. "Please turn it off." He groaned. 

The infernal machine did not heed. The music persisted.

"Holy shit, please." Dave said, and finally turned around to see text scrolling across the DiDroid's screen.

_Didn't you have a visitor coming in the morning? I thought I might've needed to wake you up._

Dave paused in rubbing his face. "A visitor- Shit! Okay, okay. Thanks for barging into my room." He meant it sincerely. Kind of. Ugh. Mornings were terrible. "Please leave now, I got your cue."

The thing rolled out and he smothered his face in his hands once again. His head felt like cotton, but through that sea of sludge he saw some images very, very clearly. Almost subconsciously, one of his hands drifted up to his chest, under his shirt. Just to check that there was no gaping wound and that his heart was, indeed, still beating. His hand dropped back onto the blankets with a sigh. 

Capman was probably a demon and voodooing his dreams or something else nuts.

Dave got up and threw on formal gear, suit, trousers, and a sbahj tie just for good measure. He checked his phone. Rose hadn't said anything more about the rep that was coming, he only had that one message about coming in the morning. Well, it was Saturday. Their filming schedule was surprisingly loose, and this was basically his day off. His weekends tended to be filled with interviews and the like. 

He told his DiDroid to go sit in the corner, because it would be rather ego-fuelling if the DiStri man came in to see one of DiStri's creations. He felt surprisingly calm for what was probably going to be one of the most important point of his life. Perhaps DiStri would want a further business partnership? That would be odd, considering the differences in their works, but Dave would still love it. On that note, why on earth did the inventor message Rose instead of him? He'd have to ask her about it later. Maybe there was another part of the email addressed to her. 

There was a knock on the door. Loud and clear and confident. Just like he imagined DiStri to be.

Aaaaaaand there was all the nervousness. Fuck. Deep breaths, Dave. (You got this. He asked to see you anyway. It's not like your home ain't adequate. Maybe you two can hit it off and you'll be like happy little peas in a shitty pod or whatever else. Maybe you can actually impress him and make him think you aren't just another lowly peon.) 

His movements felt detached. What if he met DiStri behind the door? What if DiStri wasn't a man at all? But a woman? What if he was a  _robot_ and Dave never noticed?

He opened the door with his heart in his throat, only to be greeted by a very empty corridor. He looked left. It was empty. He looked right. It was so empty that Dave let out a practically explosive breath. 

Now where was the perpetrator?

The elevator couldn't have come up that quickly. The stairs downwards were to the far, far, left, and reaching them would've been impossible without running and noise. Dave's apartment was also the only one on this floor, being the premium social status that he was. Otherwise, there were still the stairs to the right. The stairs to the roof.

Dave was going to chase down whoever decided to go tapping on his door for shits and giggles. Actually - what the fuck? A keycard was required to even have the elevator go up this high, unless somebody painstakingly leapt up tens of floors of stairs just to screw with his door? Honestly. Juveniles these days. Well, whichever daring shit it had been, there was only one path up and down from the roof. 

He silently prayed that the DiStri rep wouldn't come along while he went to school some kid. Just for security and intimidation's sake, he went inside to snatch his sword before he headed up to the roof.

Wait, fuck, fuck. He hadn't called in to grant elevator access to the visitor of his. Oh god, he was the worst host. Holy shit. This was just- He went and snagged his phone.

\-- turntechGodhead [ TG ] began pestering tentacleTherapist [ TT ] --

TG: youre my saviour rose

TG: please tell me you rung my receptionist

TT: I did, actually. 

TG: wait

TG: seriously?

TG: oh my god i love you

\-- turntechGodhead [ TG ] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT} --

TT: You're welcome.

He tossed the thing aside and headed to the stairs, sword in hand. Thank god for Rose. 

Bounce, bounce, bounce. He still went up to the roof often. It was this large empty expanse with vents and a phone tower in the corner. While his apartment was his sacred ground, the roof always seemed to trigger some nostalgia. He remembered little from his childhood. A stray man's voice (his father?), a cradle of warmth, and the sharp sound of steel. As he grew older, all but the latter vanished. He remembered an empty house and full fridge. He remembered that money was the only reminder that his parents loved him at all. 

But life was better now. He had friends, he had wealth, he had great access to all the things that made him happy-

Life was better. Right up to the point where Dave swung open the rooftop door and he saw the elusive door-knocker on the roof.

He was sorely tempted to turn around and go back home.

"Strife?"

Motherfucking Capman. Dave tunnel-visioned and ignored the rest of the roof. Capman. Still in his douchebag getup. Seriously, this 'Bro'.

The man had the audacity to cock his head and tilt his katana with the question, a small smirk flickering onto his features. At this point, Dave was certain that Capman had baited the shit out of him. 

"How did you get up here?" Dave asked sourly.

"Did I mention I'm actually a unicorn?" Capman seemed to be in good spirits, less serious than the night before. "You shouldn't doubt my flying abilities."

"Did you fool the crap out of the poor receptionist and tell him you were the DiStri rep? 

Capman's smirk grew wider. Dave scowled and took that as a yes.

"Why did you even know he was visiting? Should I be on the lookout for rainbow-shitting ponies hovering outside my window and nickering over my shoulder?"

"Why aren't you already?" Capman drawled lazily. He flicked his katana, and the action instantly caught Dave's eye. For a moment the director had actually forgotten that Capman wanted to  _fight,_ but now that threat rose anew. Not that Dave was particularly concerned; no one rivalled his swordsmanship. "Enough talk. I'm not here for talk."

"I wonder who here is all talk and no show-" The very rude Capman lunged before Dave could even finish his sentence. Dave bit back another smug retort as he casually stepped back. As predicted, Capman was incredibly slow. His sword swiped past Dave with a fumble and no finesse whatsoever. Capman tried for the offensive once again with a wide horizontal swing that was horribly off the mark. Dave assumed that Capman was only proficient at stalking. 

Dave watched almost idly as Capman flailed around him. He'd let Capman wallow for a bit in his own, let him grow irritated and angry. Dave stepped back smoothly whenever Capman tried to rush him, and just dodged and dodged with this great big asshole smirk on his face. It was annoying, though, that Capman's expression did not change at all. Nothing about him seemed to change, his breath didn't even run jagged. That was probably why Capman thought he stood a chance in the first place, he was extremely proficient at swinging his sword without skill.

Dave laughed to himself, flicking his sword up towards Capman's shin. He wasn't intending to actually cut Capman, what if Capman tried to screw with his rep? He just wanted to scare the guy off, so his blade's path was way off.

Capman's offensive stance didn't even change. It was like he hadn't even seen the blade coming and hadn't prepared himself to move just in case Dave decided to actually nick him.

What a horrible fighter. 

As expected, Dave's director-patience grew thin. Sure, it was probably amusing to watch Capman fail for a bit, but it wasn't honestly the most entertaining thing. That, and the actual DiStri guy might've come in this time. He waited for Capman to swing again, and then flipped his sword so he was holding it hilt-first. He leapt forwards and rammed his heels to halt, swung in attempt to brain Capman - he wanted the guy unconscious so he could find his ID and stalk the stalker.

Note: attempted.

Capman ducked and then, faster than eye could follow, swung his own katana back to with a flip to jab its hilt into Dave's gut. 

Ouch. That was unexpected.

Dave stepped up the game.

He kicked back from Capman (Bro) and pulled his trademark move, the one thing that had always put him above other fighters. His speed; his flashstepping.

Capman (Bro) whirled around and met Dave's blade in a clash of steel. Bro looked wonderful in that instant, his face filled with a new intensity.

To say that Dave's eyes were wide was an understatement. He was bewildered, he was so goddamn shocked that he should've just dropped his sword right there and then and surrendered.

To drive the point home, Bro started flashstepping too. Instantly, his entire stance switched from an awkward novice to an experienced son-of-a-bitch as he darted this way and that, jabbing at Dave. The director could hardly keep up, the attacks seemed to come from everywhere at once, and the worst part about it was that he was certain Bro wasn't even trying at all. 

Dave's sword went spinning from his hands. 

The next blow sent dots dancing in front of his eyes.

He was abruptly on the floor and Bro was pinning him down with his fat ass on Dave's chest. Dave was not happy with this, not at all. The last time he had lost a strife was when he was a sad kid being bullied. But he did not cry "nooo" like a melodramatic villain or an unbelieving protagonist who had been beaten for the first time. Instead, he completely ignored the fact he had been defeated in battle of swords. See, the thing was, something  _else_ had just blown his mind straight out of the water and into outer space where his mind had shrivelled up and died.

Over Bro's shoulder, a pair of black camera lenses sat on top of the vents, poised perfectly to capture the entire fight.

Dave had to think for a moment.

A long moment.

His brain was processing this information so slowly- oh my god it was just so ludicrous. The camera in question was cut with fine edges, it was shining and new and he realised just the contrast between the meticulous calculation of DiStri's creations in comparison to Bro, DiStri's representative. 

"Who in the flying honest-to-fuck god are you?" He didn't ask how he'd been beaten, because that was mighty trivial right now. _Who was this man?_

Bro sat up and grinned down at Dave, who did not share any of his amusement. "Who'd you think?" The fucker only sounded a little out of breath, even. How dare he be so good and perplexing and arrogant, Dave just wanted to sock him in the face and rattle the secrets out him, but he'd only succeed in having his fist caught and being flung around.

"You walked into my film shoot."

"That I did."

"You walked into my dinner."

"I was invited."

Dave ignored him, listing off facts as though he wasn't lying on the roof with a man sitting on his chest. "You got up the elevator because you're the DiStri rep. I just don't see _how,_ " he continued on breathlessly, " _you_ can be the representative for the most famous, anonymous man in the _world_."

"I'm his face because I'm in his pants."

A longer pause.

You know what? Dave had just been _whipped to shreds_ by this Bro. Fair and square, utterly _decimated_  in every way possible."You-" he managed to splutter. "You- He- You two are gay." 

"Of all things, that's all you notice?" Bro raised an eyebrow, and there was the feeling of judgement again. Although he'd hardly talked to a homosexual man in his life, Dave suddenly felt as though he was the one in the wrong. As though he was the outcast, as though he was the one wearing stupid pointed shades and a ridiculous popped collar.

"I actually can't see what DiStri sees in you, and I'm known for these eagle-sharp eyes." Dave said blandly. Bro, although stalker extraordinaire, although apparently also sword master 101, didn't seem to have any particularly notably attractive traits. Sure, the small shirt might've shown off his defined muscles- (This was absolutely clinical. Dave hurriedly reminded himself that he wasn't even homosexual.) but Bro didn't seem one for the spotlight and Dave didn't at all see how he could've come under DiStri's attention in the first place. 

Bro actually threw his head back and laughed uproariously while Dave's eyebrows climbed higher. He wasn't sure if Bro was supposed to be stoic or not, considering his change in demeanour from the night before. He seemed a strange mix of both, a man with secrets and snark and cutting edges as well as a lazy indifference. 

He supposed had to admit Bro's voice wasn't bad. 

"Now, kid," Dave hoped that Bro just called everybody kids, instead of it being some demeaning term meant specially for Dave. "My jewels aren't for every blind eye to see. Just shut your mouth and take the camera. Lalonde'll get all your account things done, but I don't honestly need your money." He shrugged, nonchalantly dismissing the millionaire that wasn't even talking about money in the first place. 

Dave snorted in response. Capman swung a leg to the side and stood in this lithe ripple of muscle and Dave couldn't help sitting up and staring, trying to think what would anyone see in that guy.

_How the hell did he have so much power?_

Maybe Capman had just been so incredibly weird that he'd caught the inventor's eye. Maybe Capman had just been swaggering down the street one day and DiStri had seen the eccentricity and thought  _this is my man._ Dave could see that happening, some odd love story of a genius and a nut bag.

"Okay, camera business over. Up for a round two?" Capman (or maybe Dave should've started calling him Crazyman) stood above him with his katana leisurely resting on his shoulder.  

Dave could imagine the scene as one from a movie, with Capman silhouetted by the morning sun and armed with a lens flare.

Actually, you know what,

fuck it. He just had a revelation.

No really, just fuck it. He saw the blinding clarity and the truth for once in his life.

This was his appointment for the morning: he was getting a camera from DiStri by this man who was DiStri's boyfriend, who also wanted to fight. It made the entire situation a lot less degrading knowing that Capman was actually of higher caliber than him. Who cared if his ass was getting kicked? Who cared if Capman wore trash clothing? In reality, he  _was_ actually better than all of them - Dave saw it now. Capman was cocky, and he shit all over Dave because he _was_ more intelligent (he'd probably helped DiStri create, oh god), he  _was_ a better fighter and he was more wealthy, he had the person he loved and he had all the strings to come and find Dave for some unknown reason.

He got his feet, mouth set in a determined line, and they met on the rooftop once again in a shower of sparks as their blades clashed. This time Dave was prepared to give it his all. This time, he wasn't afraid to lose. 

Later, once he returned to an empty apartment, Dirk Strider would look at the grey skies and wonder if Rose Lalonde had seen this all along.

He would remember the way she had hesitated for a very, very, long time, and he would wonder if she had seen all the lies he'd have to tell.

Even later than now, he'd wonder if she had known they'd come back to haunt him. 

\--

Dave was about ready to pull out his hair. His actors were terrible, his crew were fools (the new cameras, however, were brilliant). He practically stormed back into his apartment and threw off his coat and tie, cursing to himself. The sky was darkening, the hour late. His brain was still spinning with this vision of _'irony',_ where suddenly Hella Jeff was him and laced with these undertones of seriousness and he couldn't tell when the irony stopped and reality began.

It was the middle of the week and he was already exhausted from yelling himself hoarse. He wasn't even given free rein to bed yet, he had yet to chase down some people who were turning up progressively later and later. To top it all off, his DiDroid was playing the blasted record again. He put his shades to one side and rubbed at his head. 

His mind was roaring an absolute ruckus, and no matter how he tried, he could not stop seeing the inane scribblings of a lonely child in an empty apartment. His films and ideas, no matter what he believed now or told the world, had spawned from the imaginary sights of a boy with nothing with dark corners to play in. The past and the misery was always there, even his aspirations and life had been shaped by them.

The apartment door slammed on the way out. He climbed the stairs several at a time, fists clenching enough for nails to dig sharply into skin. He needed the roof. He needed to be able to see the sky and remind himself that he was free.

 _So many years alone, and yet you need more alone time._ Dave laughed at himself.

It was in these moments that he remembered Rosina had only appeared into his life after he'd started his career, that Jade had not always been around to laugh with him. It was in these moments that he needed to escape for a while and remember, he needed to remember those dark dark nights where there had been nobody for him-

(Your movies are a joke. They are written by a comedian's hands. They carry the _joke_ and the laughter and the pain of a struggling boy's everyday life as he fails his grades and is beaten up against every single wall in the school for demon eyes and stupidity. They're so funny and witty, Dave. You should be paid fortunes, you should blow money on something so meaningless when you sure as right _know_ you got lucky and a thousand more people didn't.)

((You don't deserve any of this.))

Something else itched at his mind and he clawed in vain attempt to reach it. Stars, he remembered. Bright lights and a pulsing green heart, grinning faces of other children (he never had any childhood friends, his mind was lying)-

On these nights, being a millionaire meant nothing. 

(What matter was that people and trolls died and he stood by and did nothing.) 

His head was bowed, hands wrung, as he stumbled along the rooftop and only vaguely reminded himself not to fall. 

He turned his face skywards. The smog was thick and obscured the galaxies that spun in his mind. He  _felt_ it, this well of knowledge and memory right beyond a paper wall, yet his fingers seemed to be useless things that simply swiped and swiped and never went anywhere. 

Even his mind kept him out.

"Hey, special-snowflake moper, turn around." (A voice that coaxed him to sleep on the long nights when he had been haunted by faces. He was so close to _remembering._ )

Dave turned and received a fist to the jaw. His teeth clacked with the sudden attack and blood filled his mouth.

Tonight did not happen to be one of rationality. 

He leapt on the shadowed figure, punch already swinging. He already knew who it was - who else but Bro? It wasn't neat and elegant and sharp and swift like swords, he just let hits fly and did not give a single fuck about where they landed. They weren't aiming to harm, merely fight. Win. Vent a little on the way, too.

Neither of the two held back. 

Sure, there was light pollution, but they were also on a rather tall apartment and he could only see the white outline of Bro. They threw punches and kicks as their minds saw fit, only occasionally blocking the other's attack. Bro tackled Dave, his bulkier form easily toppling Dave onto the cold concrete. He rained punches down on Dave, who reflexively tried to curl in on himself. Dave snarled, head-butted, and shot out a hand out to grip one of Bro's shoulders to flip them around. They tussled for longer, and Dave saw flashes of red and black and he was pretty sure his nose and lips were bleeding. His nostrils were filled with the heady scent of adrenaline, sweat, and they both swore and cussed. 

Dave hissed as Bro's fist managed to connect with the side of his head. There went more brain cells than he could spare. 

Another hit. The city flickered black for a moment. He wasn't quite sure what his own hands were doing. They seemed to be ripping and scrabbling at Bro, doing nothing more than tearing his shirt. 

For a moment, he was certain Bro growled in his ear before both his hands were pinned by an unrelenting grip. He squirmed there on the concrete, harsh, ragged breaths coming in heaves.

He scrunched his eyes in anticipation for the blows that... did not come. Instead, Bro was on his hands and knees above Dave and just staring intently.

"Christ." Was his only comment, apparently. "Aren't you nuts."

"Name one guy who isn't." Dave replied, opening his eyes. His lips felt swollen and numb. Bro's skin glistened with sweat, and his stupid shirt was torn in places. "Hell, what's my mind keeping from me? What're  _you_ keeping from me? Up here in the first place 'cause of some bullshit coincidence?"

"Nah. Waited for you all day to come up here. You always come back to this roof."

"Well, didn't have to punch me."

"Didn't I? Looked awfully busy drowning in your thoughts before I came along."

"I've got it under check, always have done." There was probably blood stained all over his dress shirt.

"I'm sure that's why you keep coming up here." Bro's tone was laced with sarcasm.

"That's because-"

"Yeah, boohoo. I'm Dave Strider and my childhood was so scary. Who cares that life is perfect now? I have moments where I need to cry about the fact that my parents weren't some perfect ideal guardians." Bro sneered at him.

The goddamn  _nerve_  of this shithead.

Dave's anger and frustration hit the roof and burst. "The fuck do  _you_ know about being abandoned and lost and nowhere to go?! The fuck do you know about standing by and doing shit all?I know the pain, seen it a thousand times, but I don't do anything, _anything_ _at_   _all._  Couldn't fucking possibly-"

Dave's world exploded into fireworks and pain as Bro crashed their skulls together in a head-butt.

"Jesus, learn to deal with inequality. Why are you such a pansy."

Dave actually wanted to punch the living lights out of Bro in that instant. "It's not as easy as-"

Bro really needed to stop head-butting him. "Sure thing it is. Didn't I keep it away when we were fighting?" He shifted off from Dave, releasing his hands and they were probably both surprised Dave didn't surge up to sock him in the jaw. "Some things are just the way they are."

"That sounds like a terrible philosophy." Dave sniffed because there was blood running down his nose, and he sat up to find Bro staring back at him. The man didn't have his shades on, but Dave was having a little difficulty discerning the colour of his eyes. "Almost more terrible than your ugly face, even."

"Thanks for the compliment." Bro answered wryly. "But mope too long, you lose the time you could've spent doing something worthwhile." 

"Uh huh." Dave's anger was slipping away and his usual snark was taking its place. "Sure, please tell me more of your wise advice, old man. I'm sure you know how to run my life fabulously." 

"The movies I'd make would be better than yours."

"You really think that? I am the _god_ of film-making and irony."

"Are you trying to compare DiStri with your shitty movies?" Bro met Dave's gaze head-on, and... were his eyes...?

Dave scooted closer on his ass to get a better look, and reached out to grip a shoulder when Bro instinctively tried to flinch away. His hand shifted to hold Bro's chin, and Dave leaned in to look at what definitely could not have been orange eyes. Bro was suddenly tense under Dave's hold and stared determinedly away at a corner. Dave gave Bro's chin up a little tip, and immediately orange eyes flickered to met red.

They really were amber. Huh. Dave settled back onto his haunches and silently contemplated the person before him. Bro, for the first time Dave had seen, suddenly looked slightly uncomfortable.

Amber. Orange. Dave pursed his lips. There was something about the colour, something... Nope. It was gone. Whatever memory had brushed his mind disappeared.

"Uh huh." Bro suddenly drawled, snapping Dave back to attention. His cocky demeanour had returned. "Stop frowning, keep looking at my pretty honey princess eyes."

"They aren't pretty." Dave automatically retorted. "Orange is basically bright shit brown."

That was a lie.

His eyes were gorgeous. Dave couldn't have imagined a more fitting colour, and he felt a strange spike of jealousy at his own inferior red.

"They get the same issue as yours." Bro said dismissively. "Bad with bright lights." He walked over near the edge of the building and donned his shades that he'd left there; somehow he'd known their scuffle would be a dirty one, and that his shades would've been broken if he had kept them on.

"Jesus, what are you? My evil clone from a distant world coming to steal my wonderful little movies from me? All this glory didn't come easy."

Dave watched as Bro stiffened. Maybe he was offended at being compared to Dave. "We got the same hair," Dave had actually been too busy paying attention to the spikiness of Bro's to notice how similar their hairdo's actually were. "Other than that, nothing similar. Your shades are round idiotic disks and your strifing skills are even worse."

"Hey!" 

Bro gave him an absolutely shit-eating smirk. " _And_ you're a pansy."

Dave leapt at him for that last comment, Bro darting back with a bark of a laugh. "Hell, you don't know loneliness is, Dave! Being beat up is bad, being alone is worse!"

"Yeah. You'd know 'cause everyone gives you this mile wide berth as soon as they see your popped collar." Dave tried to lunge for Bro's legs this time, but Bro was playing this jumpy little game.

"I love my collar. Admit it, you do too. DiStri does." As Dave swiped and missed again, he felt a sharp jolt of irritation at the mention of DiStri. He hated it when people brought up their significant others during what should've been bonding time. When Rosina gushed about her girlfriend for two hours, it always managed to irk him a little. _  
_

"Maybe you and him and no one else. DiStri's probably actually robot too, so it's probably just you." Bro dodged and managed to swipe out Dave's legs from under him. Dave fell into a roll and sprung right back up. He grinned widely at Bro, whose face was lit up bright with city lights. 

Bro's eyebrows furrowed and he looked a little concerned. "Hey Dave, don't-" He began, stepping forwards. 

Dave was a fucking giddy idiot. 

He bounced back away from Bro, even though every single indicator should've told him to stay still. 

**His foot did not connect with concrete.**

Time seemed to slow.  _Fuck **.**_

He, mouth open in an 'o', looked up at Bro, who threw himself towards Dave. His hand wrapped around Dave's foot and then-

he was carried down by Dave's momentum too.

Like a switch, time restarted in an instant and they both disappeared over the edge of the building with a yell. 

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Dave cursed up a storm but his words were whipped away by the wind rushing past. Bro had somehow edged his way up Dave's body to wrap twin, strong arms around his torso. Dave was going to die. He could feel it now, the famous director was going to be found splattered over the sidewalk because he stumbled off a building. He hadn't even been drunk oh my god, Dave was going to die, Bro was going to die too oh my god why was Dave so fucking retarded-

The breath was knocked out of him as his back connected with something and he hit it  _hard_ _._  That couldn't have been the ground, he'd be dead. He was living nearly a hundred storeys up, jesus fuck,

He suddenly noticed he wasn't falling anymore. 

Bro's arms were wound tightly around him and Dave was hoisted to sit upright, pressed against Bro's chest. The city was still rushing past, but this time the lights were flashing by on his left and right, from right to left. His heart hammered in his chest like a rat that was nearly thrown off a building. He was sitting on-

He was sitting on a hoverboard. His legs were spread and dangling off the sides, while his arms were awkwardly crushed in Bro's grip. 

Dave was sitting on a hoverboard.

Well, then. Bro wasn't DiStri's boyfriend for nothing. 

"Holy shit, holy shit, I'm so sorry I'm a fucking retard," he realised that his mouth was actually still blabbering away. Had he even stopped talking at any point after he'd fallen? 

Bro said nothing in response, but Dave felt him relax a little and the hoverboard began to slowly climb upwards. Right in front of Dave, there were these clips and indents on the hoverboard, and he noted that the thing was definitely usually used for standing on. 

Dave peered over the edge (Bro's hands tried to bring him closer protectively) and the streets below had never seemed so bustling and luminous. People were here and there like ants, cars like toys, all surrounded by the bright, bright lights. Neon billboards and flashing signs. Windows with their reflective sheen. It was like a ravine, a crevice filled with glow. 

"You're lucky I managed to catch your foot." Bro said right into his ear, and Dave jumped. Bro's warm arms pressed him flush, and his lips were practically brushing Dave's skin. "Wouldn't have gotten the coords right if we weren't close, and you're even luckier that I put on my shades."

Dave twisted in his seat to look at Bro, otherwise the other man probably wouldn't hear a word of what he was saying over the wing. "Yeah, cool. I'll keep that in mind next time I decide to go jumping off buildings." He half-yelled.

Bro's mouth twisted into a smirk, but Dave couldn't tell what on earth the man was thinking. You know what, Dave couldn't fight it anymore. He reached up shakily and took off Bro's sunglasses, gently cradling them in his hands. Bro's eyes were sparkling with this unspoken exhilaration, and it made Dave's heart race to see that sight.

"Hey, shithead. Can't control this thing without those." Bro said.

"Wait, you can't?"

"I'm not telepathic, sorry."

Dave glanced over the amber eyes one more time before he remorsefully set the shades back on Bro's nose bridge. Bro's smirk grew.

Tightening arms were the only warning Dave received before new thrust kicked in and the hoverboard shot off. 

"You're fucking insaaaane-!" His adrenaline peaked and Dave was pretty sure he dissolved into laughter. Lights burst all around him like fireworks, it was like being tossed down a waterfall but there were these two sturdy anchors that kept him from washing away with the stream. 

Until Bro stopped clinging onto whatever had been keeping them seated and the hoverboard zipped out from under them.

At that point, Dave screamed. He felt like he had been thrown into a giant washing machine. They were in freefall,  _again._ He was more or less cradled by Bro's entire body.

The hoverboard looped around to catch them, and by some miracle of god, Bro landed  _feet first._ The clips on the board automatically clicked and wrapped around Bro's shoes. Dave was beyond shocked at this point, and he was pretty sure that he was still screaming. His feet scrabbled to find purchase, but it didn't really matter. Bro could hold him tight and keep him on the thing, anyway. He felt like some sort of princess that was being dragged along in a whirlwind.

Worst princess ever.

The hoverboard spiralled upwards, zipping around and around buildings. Windows were closed but blinds still leaked light. Dave could see his own reflection rippling past in the windows, his red eyes wide with a mix of shock, fear, and overwhelming glee. Bro, despite being bloody and beaten, just looked utterly nonchalant and amazingly  _cool._ Fuck other people's slow cars stuck in traffic, forget walking through muddy streets; Bro swerved around another corner and shot upwards, and Dave felt his heart leap alongside the hoverboard. Bro was this radiator against his back and Dave's face was getting utterly whipped by the wind. He turned in Bro's arms and nestled his face over Bro's shoulder, watching the lights and buildings disappear behind them and grow smaller. 

When Bro finally set him down on the roof once again, it felt awfully bleak and dark. But Dave couldn't help the grin that threatened to break his face, and he became a starfish and refused to let go of the other man.

"Holy shit, please do this again sometime." Dave said, not even bothering to conceal his giddiness. Hell, he'd already screamed like a sissy on the way down, been beaten into the ground during strifes, what else could possibly humiliate him?

"Sorry." Bro said, not even getting off his board. The thing was still clipped to his feet and he stood there a metre off the ground. "You don't really want to be seen, do you?"

Dave inwardly pouted. In reality, he untangled himself from Bro and leapt down to the roof, turning back to give the man another grin. 

"See you, Dave." And with that, Bro raised a hand in farewell. The hoverboard roared to life again, kicking off the roof. It zipped away and sailed over the city like a shooting star.

Dave watched him go a little wistfully, then turned to head back downstairs. "Holy fuck." He muttered to himself as he made his way down. His bloody nose was completely forgotten at this point. "Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck!" His voice rose to a shout, and he swore he bounced a little as he spun, spread his arms and laughed. 

It was good to be alive.

\--

Their swords clattered to the ground in a mutual "fuck this", and they went to lounge and dangle their legs over the edge of the building. 

They'd been meeting regularly ever since the night Dave took a fall from the building. Once Dave got off work, which was usually well into the late hours of night, he'd head up onto the roof. He should've been sleeping, he got little sleep as it was, but he enjoyed the strifes. They helped him relax and worked out the day's stress. Typically, Bro immediately left down the elevator once they were finished. He hadn't stepped a foot into Dave's apartment.

Honestly? A bit of Dave wished he would. He liked Bro, he was a very blunt man who put up with Dave's rambles, and beneath his stony exterior, actually seemed to have quite a big heart. He'd like to invite Bro in to be one of his close friends. But of course, there was still the issue of the thick enigmatic mist that shrouded Mr Capman. Dave had yet to learn his name, Dave had yet to even learn who _DiStri_ was. He didn't know anything about Capman or his so-called boyfriend at all, really. 

Laying there with his back against the concrete, hands folded over his stomach and legs idly swinging over a 400 metre drop, Dave was abruptly aware of how much power Capman had over him. Capman, Bro, whatever his name was (Rose had called him Bro that one time and he'd stuck with it so far), could come and go as he pleased. He could stop turning up one day and Dave would never be able to find him.

The thought was a little distressing, actually. But Dave put it out of his mind. He knew better to press Bro, the man only gave answers when he wanted to.

"I'm so fucked if the press sees me like this." He said instead, raising an arm littered with shallow cuts and gingerly brushing over a nick on his cheek. "Keep your metal away from my pretty face, jeez."

Bro gave an acknowledging hum. He and Dave were sitting a comfortable distance apart. If Dave reached out his left arm, he would just be able to slap Bro's face or something. "Was an accident. Sorry." 

"Yeah, leave a bigger cut and they'll think I'm in an abusive relationship or something. And then they'll come flooding up all hundreds of stairs and putting cameras everywhere. They'll be like 'who's this guy with orange eyes' and then our strifes will be put to a miserable, miserable end. It'll be tragic, I say."

"I'm not stupid, Dave."

"Aren't you?!" Dave feigned shock, and brought one leg up to poke Bro in the side. However, his foot clad in a sock and leather shoe was caught in Bro's firm grip. 

"You're hurling your face into my blade. I can't really stop you from doing that."

"You could at least patch me up afterwards." His toes wiggled in in protest, and his shoe bent a little with the movement. Bro eyed his foot wearily. 

"It's a superficial wound. Besides, you know full well how to treat minor cuts."

"I need a maid. You can be my maid - forget the android DiStri, come with me. I promise you pretty pink dresses and high heels and a really fluffy duster."

"I said I was in his pants. Do you think I can be in a robot's pants? When did you even start that android joke?"

"I'm sure you could bone a robot. But that's besides the point." Dave waved a hand. "You could be my maid, Bro. Cleaning up these tiny millimetre thick cuts on my baby smooth face. C'mon, every bachelor and maiden out there is swooning to be my face washer."

Despite the little fluctuation in his tone, Dave could tell that Bro was slightly amused. "I could also throw your shoe off this roof."

Dave wasn't really concerned, he wiggled his caught foot a little more. "Your rocketboard will catch it for me, it's cool."

A moment later and Dave was concerned. He peeked over the edge of the building to see a little black dot go spinning away until it was enveloped in the yellow of the streetlights. 

"Bro, that was my favourite shoe." He slid his right foot further away from that shoe-throwing evil-doer. "Now my other shoe will live forever in misery, never to be reunited with his long-lost love."

"Why do you want to keep a single shoe. You might as well give me the other one and they can be be together on the footpath somewhere."

"I'm waiting one day for a pretty little princess to find me, carrying a black leather shoe with DS sown into the sole. It'll be so Cinderella, she'll fall down onto her knees and ask to marry me and we'll be soul-mates for the rest of our lives. My shoes and I will both find our eternal partners."

"Or you can wake tomorrow to find that your shoe's been charged for manslaughter."

Dave couldn't help but snort at that comment. "Then I'll throw all the rest of my clothes off the edge and I'll pretend I had a hot lay up here or something. So it'll be like I actually had a reason for my shoe to go flying away, not that some random spiky-haired douche just picked it up and hurled it into the abyss." 

"That would actually put me under the constructive manslaughter charge or something. Is it illegal to throw shoes off high buildings?"

"What do you think? Aren't you supposed to be a genius' boyfriend?" 

Bro shrugged. "Law is odd. Changes as often as opinions. Anyway, enough talk." He climbed to his feet and went to pick up his katana. "Pick up your ass and keep strifing."

Dave threw his other shoe into the corner of the roof and strifed the rest of the night in his socks.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currency there, I expect, is of much higher worth than ours. Such things tend to happen with time. Thus, Dave being a millionaire is still considered very, very well off.
> 
> dave falling off the building and his shoe being thrown off literally was all not planned at all
> 
>  **Also, pal. Please read this.**  
>     
> I know someone's been snooping around on my laptop when I accidentally leave it unattended. They've definitely been hacking into my social media. I highly suspect that they're keeping tabs on my writing here, and I know that they judge harshly because I ship two fictional boys. They have the power to reveal my online persona to my friends. Therefore, the most there's going to be in this is some shitty romance and a lot of violence. Please don't expect anything more. As much as it may fit the story, I hope you see that I'm unable to. My online persona is a persona for a reason, and certainly not what I'd want those close to me to see. 
> 
> As for shipping a gay couple - that doesn't even matter. I could use any other pairing for this fic and hardly a thing would change. My original plot idea for this actually did revolve around a straight couple, I just fit it to Dave and Dirk because I like them. I'd prefer to keep them as the main characters in this. 
> 
> Thanks for understanding.
> 
> I'll also mention that this will be Eyeless' last fic. I want to finish this, but I cannot bear to write knowing that some prying person is judging my every word not for the sake of reading fiction, but for the sake of invading my anonymity.


	16. 4c

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> revelations ahoy
> 
> Four things (that you may or may not have noticed) I constantly do:  
> 1\. Use the terms "standing" and "staring."  
> 2\. Relate things to birds.  
> 3\. Describe hands. Describe things as hands.  
> 4\. Use the return key.

Dave had never imagined he'd one-up Bro. Bro was like a bird, a cocky orange bird with brilliant feathers who had come to rest on Dave's shoulder. Dave knew nothing about his nest nor where he had come from; he knew nothing about how such flamboyant plumage had sprouted, but he knew two things.

One: he had never seen a creature like such before, and he would never again.

Two: Bro could disappear in an instant, depart for the skies, and Dave would be left stranded on the ground.

It turned out that he was wrong in both instances.  
  
He just never imagined that he'd have a net in his hands.

\--

Here he was at some bigwig party, lounging in a plush chair as Rose talked to whatever long-legged lady was seated on the same table as them. Sure, Dave looked uninterested, but he was always listening. His shades did wonders, man. Ms Legs kept glancing his way, and he mentally let himself have a satisfied smirk knowing that she was probably wondering if he was watching her. Rose knew what was going on, too. She had her smug-ass face on and continued engaging in polite talk. 

The place was all lush red carpets and golden pillars, a ballroom and restaurant hired out for the night. There was some jazz seeping out of the speakers, its swing probably more intoxicating than the wine. Black suits and shimmering dresses, that was generally the sight that met Dave's eyes. He turned his gaze back to Ms Legs, who gave him a coy grin, and he felt her leg brush his under the table. 

Hah, the gutsy woman. He might end up taking her to some hotel. Rose didn't really care about his one-night stands, but one thing she had suggested before was that Dave should date Jade. In all honesty? Nah. He didn't really fancy dropping his cool-as demeanour to swoon at a lady's feet. He'd seen plenty of people drop everything, their characters, their resistance, their money, all for their partners. And Dave? Hell, he just wanted to be himself.

His thoughts sounded like the regular whinging of playboy millionaires who didn't want to dedicate.

Dedication wasn't really the issue. He wasn't around for sex (he still dedicated his emotions and loyalty to his friends) he just didn't want to drop his ego and practically kneel at someone's feet. He didn't want to become that sort of love-struck puppy.

(Dave didn't realise that he'd already dropped his ego for Bro.)

But, away from Dave's romantic thoughts, something more important happened that night. That night was the night Dave's world shifted. It was the day that jarred the wheel of time and sent it tumbling down the slippery hills of fate.

 _Tick tock, motherfucker._ A clock began counting in his mind.

With Ms Legs and Rose patiently sitting around a golden-draped table, sitting in some expensive building in some worthless city, he felt the paper wall in his mind _surge_. What had triggered it now? What had-

He remembered his dream. Cawing crows and their wings and their cacophony. Black feathers, blacker eyes, and of course - a body run through with a sword. 

And there had been another man with spiky blonde hair. He had looked so  _real,_ with skin that would've prickled to the touch and a chest that rose and fell with breaths. He had walked by behind Dave, like a shadow. It  _was_ that feeling, Dave realised. He was feeling that sensation where someone stepped on his grave, where someone was passing by and where someone was walking away.

He turned around and in his mind's eye, he saw the black feathers of crows. An orange feather drifted in their midst.

Holy sweet mother of _fuck._

He stood from the chair and ignored the fact that Rose and Ms Legs were watching him.

The departing man was not in his dream, but  _right **there.**_ In a suit, not sleeveless black, he was leaving (again again again) for the crowd. The mass of other dark suits was bustling and he would be swallowed whole.

Dave's breath stopped for an instant, and he was terrified. What if his legs wouldn't move? What if he could only stand and stare, while Rose disappeared into a thousand crows and only Ms Legs would be left, beckoning him to her?

His eyes were fixed on that head of blonde hair, which was so heart-achingly familiar. In his mouth, a single word sat, gathering the strength to spring free.

The world restarted with a lurch and Dave sprinted into the crowd after the disappearing back. 

Rosina watched him go with narrowed eyes.

He was a director, he was a millionaire, he was the epitome of cool and he was pushing people out of the way as he tried to stumble after the blond-haired man. It was him it was him _it was him._ He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, it was blocking his words and there was still only this one syllable forming on his lips.

His outstretched hand was raised out before him like the final flail of a drowning man. He had eyes for one thing, one person, and one only.

He clasped a shoulder.

The man turned around and the face was so familiar, Dave nearly said 'Bro'. He nearly said a name that was teasing the edges of his conscious. 

The eyes that met his were an icy _blue_.

Dave slipped under the waves, unable to fight any longer, and he took that final breath where water would surely flood his lungs. The disappointment was so, so, crushing. He had been so sure it had been Bro, he had been so sure that it had been the key to the dam in his mind and-

The last of his oxygen left him as a gasp before he drowned. "Dirk."

(The net sprung to life and the orange bird was shot out of the sky.)

(It would not take flight while Dave kept it bound with his own lifeline.)  _  
_

The name had come from nowhere, but suddenly the clock in his ears roared louder and he could hear the seconds oozing by as the blonde man just stood and stared and stared and stared.

"Dirk." Dave repeated blankly. It sounded so right. He wanted to say it again and again and feel safe.

"Who-  _fuck_." The man said, his blue eyes open wide. Dave knew that voice. "Dave, I-"

"You're wearing contacts." Dave cut him off. He was still in shock. The paper wall was dissolving in the water. He had expected to be flooded with images and words but instead there was only this sense of  _contentment._ "You're wearing something that ain't a jackass shirt."

Bro looked good in a suit and orange tie. It changed his demeanour from a lazy drawling panther back to a statue with stone eyes. "I am." He responded, equally as numbly.

The dreaded question: "Why do I know your name? Why the hell do I keep seeing and hearing goddamn things that I swear I've never-"  _Why did I see you in my dreams?_ Was the unasked one.

"We met a long time ago." Dirk told him. 

"What, when I was still a kid rocking in nappies?"

"We were both children then." The man seemed distant, unattached, his thoughts elsewhere and adrift. Dave had never had such a chance to examine Dirk's eyes up close in the light like this. He didn't know whether it was the contacts, but Dirk's face was still unreadable. 

"Then why don't I remember shit? Why are you at this party?"

"DiStri needed to be here."

"Okay, yeah, but what happened in the past? And don't you  _dare_ hide more things from me." Dirk could kick his ass in strifes, he could face social taboos without a flinch, he was allied with the smartest man around, but right then Dave just didn't care at all. His confusion was rapidly becoming frustration because these were  _enough_ mysteries. "I know you have all the answers, why won't you just  _tell me?_ " _  
_

Dirk shook his head, eyes locked on the floor. 

Dave dropped his hands from Dirk's shoulders.

"Trust me, Dave. I will tell. In time."

Did Dave trust him?

Perhaps foolishly, yes. He did. 

Dave gave him one last undecipherable look behind his shades and then melted back into the crowd. Dirk remained fixed to the spot, feet frozen and watching as his brother disappeared.

Black suits obscured his vision and in a blink, Dave was gone.

\--

Things changed after that. 

Monday evening (late into the night), Dirk didn't turn up in a popped collar and spats. He was patiently waiting on the roof in a reasonable shirt and pants. Dave almost felt like he was meeting a whole new person, but Dirk's demeanour and his little smirks were still the same as ever. 

They sparred and strifed for a bit, but Dave's foot slipped against the concrete like a giant fucking amateur and he went tumbling straight into Dirk's flashing blade. Steel bit and cut.

A red line stretched from one corner of Dave's torso and to the other. It bloomed from a new split in his shirt.

"Fuck!" 

Dirk was beside him in a flash, his precious katana carelessly dropped as he scooped Dave up in his arms and leapt down the stairwell. He sprinted to Dave's apartment door and, yup, Dave had locked it before he'd left because he was a real safety conscious guy- ohhhh nevermind, there went the handle and there went the door from under Dirk's foot.

Dave winced. Argh. He was going to need that poor thing fixed. "Dude, stop flipping out. Honestly, it's just a cut, jesus-"

He was placed down onto his couch with all the daintiness of a petal and then instantly Dirk was away interrogating his DiDroid and flashing away to find his first-aid kit.

"Don't break any more of my furniture." Dave called in the general vicinity of his bathroom, where he could hear shelves being flung open. Millionaire or no, he still would kinda rather his apartment intact.

Dirk reappeared with dry towels and damp towels and dressing and everything that Dave deemed overkill. He unbuttoned Dave's shirt, tried to nestle Dave in pillows, and set about cleaning and wrapping the wound. Dirk sat on the large couch cross-legged, while Dave complained through every step of the treatment.

"I know I was saying you could be my personal maid and all but actually I retract that statement, this is really scary. You punched my face up worse than this and did nothing."

"This was an accident." Dirk said, not even looking up from where he was gently swabbing Dave's cut. Dave hissed at the sting. "I could easily open up your chest with a sword, yet my fingers-"

He abruptly cut himself off. Paused. Started again.1

"My fists wouldn't split you like a melon."

"That's really gross imagery, dude."

"This close, Dave." Dirk stopped in his dabbing to hold up a thumb and forefinger, held a little apart. "I could've sent you to hospital. I could've spilt you over the rooftop."

"This is really gross-"

"I _have_ accidentally killed men and women before."

That shut Dave up real quick. He stared at the sitting man leaning over his chest and tried to imagine those careful fingers pulling a plug or pushing a button or somehow ending a life.

"I rejected her, and she ended her life within the day." 

So it _hadn't_ been Dirk's failure at swordsmanship. The man was worrying over nothing. On the other hand - wow, what a healthy relationship. Dave hoped Dirk didn't send DiStri into a similar depression if they broke up. 

"I thought you were gay." Dave blurted. Then he considered burying his face into a pillow from sheer embarrassment. 

Dirk: blank. "I am."

"Oh. Oh, yeah, uh. Right." How to be Dave: insert foot into mouth.

Thankfully, Dirk let the question pass. "Another time, I wasn't thinking straight. I opened a man right up the chest." He raised his right hand and placed a finger on Dave's toned stomach. It was cold to the touch, like the opposite of a brand. He glided it over Dave's skin, drawing a neat line (skipping over the cut) straight up to his throat. "If I let slip in our strifes, it could slide clean through."

Oddly enough, Dave had always trusted Dirk not to just murder him right there and then. Dirk could've hurt him at any point in any of their strifes, but he hadn't. Dave had always had trusted that Dirk was skilled enough not to go randomly stabbing Dave.

"You didn't seem to worry about it before, dude. Besides, this one was my own fat feet. It's how I get the ladies. I go tripping at their shoes, batting my eyelashes and swooning big time." 

Dirk didn't seem to be amused. His blond eyebrows were a little furrowed and Dave could tell that he probably needed more comfort. Jeez. Who knew Dirk - the super cool man of the Brohood, was actually such a teddy bear? Not that Dave minded, as long as Dirk wasn't overbearing. 

Long lithe fingers finally secured an unnecessary amount of dressing around Dave's torso, and the director immediately made to sit up.

He saw Dirk's disapproving look, but Dirk kept his hands to himself. "Look man, you're the god at the sword, right?"

"No."

Dave ignored him. "All that jazz about killing ladies and men wasn't because you accidentally dropped your katana and let it land in someone's stomach. Nah, you were still holding it and letting it do its thing. Wasn't your hand, was _this_." He reached forwards and pointed at Dirk's head. "So don't go telling me you want to call off the strifes because you're scared of your old man shaky hands."

Dirk still looked a little reluctant, but he didn't argue. Dave took it as a win. A little securing wouldn't hurt, though. 

"You just need to trust  _me_ not to go sliding my fat body into your katana, and we're good."

_Trust._

Dirk nodded wordlessly - the tiniest tilt of a head. He would trust Dave. He could trust Dave. "You're much too fat. Go take a diet before you strife me."

"Hey hey hey, who invited me to strife in the first place?" Dave threw his hands up and then instantly winced. "Besides, look at this zero fat. Look at it." He gestured down at his bare chest, and Dirk had to fight himself not to stare. "This fat is so non-existent it's like your boyfriend."  

"You're right, actually. I don't have a boyfriend."

Boom. Dave's brain, gone. He held up his hands again, this time slowly. This was too much for him to handle. "No, c'mon, stop. Too many revelations and secrets, nope, stop, just-"

"You were literally asking me reveal everything two days ago."

"So you aren't actually DiStri's boyfriend, you're just in his pants  _oh my god you two are fuck buddies._ "

Dirk snorted with laughter and then he couldn't stop himself chuckling. He really couldn't. "Whatever you want to believe, Dave. But we aren't boyfriends."

Dave's eyebrows were just up in his hair. "Maybe you two just broke up days ago- oh my god you'd think you'd be mopey and it'd be really obvious but shit. There're too many secrets, stop. My life is flashing before my eyes in this spiky vista and jesus." 

"This isn't the last of them, Dave. There'll be plenty of happy little revelations bouncing along in the future, coming to slap you straight in the face."

"You're a dick."

"Thanks."

"I'm going to shower and go to bed, dick. Don't break my apartment while I drown in the bathroom. Or, y'know, you could leave now. You've done your maidly job and patched up my pretty little face." 

Dirk shrugged, and Dave left him on his sofa. Dirk wouldn't rob or break or prank him. For one, he didn't need any money. Despite not having a boyfriend, Dave still knew Dirk had  _some_ sort of connection to DiStri. Who else had a hoverboard, for god's sake? He'd been at the party, too. Yeah, Dirk definitely had money. Aside from that, he was probably feeling too guilty about cutting Dave to prank him. 

As Dave showered, he carefully avoided his chest and instead wetted a towel to wipe off his face and arms. He  _trusted_ Dirk. A lot. Surprising. He had the notion, somehow, that Dirk trusted him too. It was weird - most of their encounters had consisted so far of blades and fighting, but he supposed it actually developed far more trust than just meeting at a convention or something (Then again, Dirk had saved his life). When he'd first met Dirk (Bro (Capman)) he'd just assumed that Dirk was a giant rebellious old teenager who was all talk and no show. He knew better now. Dirk had come looking for a challenger to strife, and that had been Dave.

Dave knew Dirk was holding back some pretty important things. But all in good faith, Dave had trust. Dirk said one day, and one day it would be. 

Dirk had seemed stony at first, but somewhere in there Dave felt that Dirk still had humour and fear and care and Dave actually felt a strange surge of affection at the thought. He felt like he'd known Dirk for a long time. He'd like to... he had no idea what he wanted, actually. But banter sounded pretty good. Maybe with a side dish of movies and totally ironic snuggling.

Besides, he had no boyfriend, right?

...

Dave couldn't  _believe_ he'd just thought that. He knew his standards were low from the fact that he even took one-night stands at all, but _Dirk_? No, Dave. Bad Dave. He'd never even entertained a man. He wasn't exactly apposed to the idea of being gay; it was simply something he had never even considered. 

He walked out of the shower with a towel around his waist and hurriedly darted to his room to find a pair of snug, soft, trousers to sleep in. He passed on wearing a shirt, but paused. His bed was bare, the blanket gone, alongside his pillows.

Had Dirk left?

The answer was no. Dave emerged out into the living room and the answer was curled up on the sofa beneath a giant, towering, colossal hut of pillows.

Oh, good lord. 

The walls were sturdy, the roof was his blanket. His couch was an L-shaped one. The pillow fort managed to cover the entire thing, and the entrance was at the foot of the L. 

"Yo, you in there?"

"No," came Dirk's muffled reply. "I'm calmly sitting on the ceiling. What else would I be doing? Chilling in this wonderful piece of art I created?"

"Sure is a mighty castle and all, but do you think I could have my blanket back? I know I'm hot, but it really ain't warm enough to go sleeping in just glorious, glorious, skin." Dirk's shirt was folded neatly on the coffee table. 

"Can't go ripping up someone else's building for nothing but your private interests. Blanket is well and truly mine."

Dirk had gotten it from  _his_ bed in the first place. Dave sighed at the man who managed to be childish and mature and caring and heartless and calculating and cool all at once. "I thought that maybe since you have this grand spanking hoverboard and probably flying apartment, you wouldn't exactly be this rabbit living in a pillow lair."

"Come in here and tell me it's not fit for a king."

Well, that sure sounded like a challenge. Dave cautiously ducked his way into the fort, forced to drop to his hands and knees. He felt like an idiot. Wow, full-grown man crawling into a pillow fort. He turned the L and there was Dirk, lounging shirtless in even more pillows and looking snug. The couch felt a lot smaller like this, and Dave went up and nestled right beside Dirk in his pile of pillows. The enclosed area was rapidly heating up.

"See? Comfortable." Dirk said, radiating smug.

"I'm baking in here. This isn't a castle, this is some sort of medieval torture chamber where they cook people alive." Dave complained, and watched as Dirk considered the wall pillows and very, very carefully rotated one so there was fresh air flow. 

"Cool?"

"Ha. Ha ha ha. Very funny." Dave said dryly. Dirk simply smirked at him, and then burrowed deeper into his large bundle of cushions. Dave had his knees buried in the pillow tower, and when he looked up he could see his blanket above his head. It was surprisingly cosy.

Yeah, really ridiculous. Two full-grown half-naked men lying in a heap of pillows inside a pillow fort. 

Dave thought ridiculousness could go fuck itself and he snuggled into a cushion, letting his muscles ease. "King'd be too giant to fit in here." He mumbled.

"Kings aren't as fat as you. You're in here fine."

"I thought you were supposed to be smart or something but your insults are like- mff!" A pillow was thrown at his face. "Rude."

"I'm offering you good hospitality into my cotton-soft world. You're the one being rude."

"This  _my_ apartment." Dave picked up a pillow and swatted Dirk, who stopped it with his hand. Another cushion went zipping and caught Dave straight in the face.

War it was, then. Dirk was this speed demon and Dave was getting showered by feather-soft blows. He managed to catch Dirk a few times too, relishing in the laughs it got him.

Eventually, to no one's surprise, the fort fell down around them. Dirk smushed Dave's face between two pillows, and Dave's kicking leg brought down the walls. The fresh, cool air was sudden and welcome. 

Dave lay there breathless and laughing, surrounded by gentle cushions and a heater that was Dirk. He turned, and their faces were a lot closer than he had expected. Dirk's eyes were surprisingly warm. Dave was suddenly very aware of their close proximity and he could feel the rise and fall of Dirk's every breath.

Dave composed himself. His smirk widened.

"Next time, instead of building a fort, go and fucking fix my door."

\--

Dave was dreaming. He recognised the expanse of white around him, and was hardly surprised when he saw a body and sword in the distance. But this time he was watching when the crows came. They emerged from his shadow, unfolding wings and opening white eyes. 

_**Caw!** (again!)_

He wondered why they said "again" over and over in his mind. He wondered why they appeared from  _his_ shadow. They trailed off into the cloudless snow white sky like smoke (something that could not be caught in his hands). 

Dread built up in him. He did not want to see the body again; he did not want to feel such grief, yet something in world around him whispered that it was inevitable. Death was inevitable.

The body on the ground wore a popped collar and the crow on the sword disappeared at his approach - like more smoke (dissipated with a breath). Dave knelt and reached a cautious hand out to brush Dirk's (???) face. It may have been Dirk. It may have been's Dirk older brother, or his twin. The skin was cold to the touch.

He thought he'd be ready for the sadness, but it hit like a wave and swept him out to an endless ocean that was empty of other humans and empty of life. Dave gritted his teeth and he clutched at the dead man's shirt. He _howled_.

" _Dirk!_ " It was primal and it was a scream, it was ripped from his throat like a sin. He was on his knees and it was to the vanished crows that he yelled. 

"Right here." Soothing and smooth, like a balm to a burn.

Dave turned around so suddenly that his entire world spun. "Bro-" The word leapt from his lips in an instinctive motion and Dirk was there, his stance and form so familiar, gesturing as he spoke. His back was turned to Dave.

"Hey, don't worry about it."

Dave was still as a statue. No - he was like a machine switched off. Dirk was the one who held the controls. 

Dirk was facing empty air, speaking to it. Was there someone else there? Dave didn't hear another voice. "You'll do good out there, bro."

_He said 'bro', fuck, he said it too._

"Time to go save the world. Sure. Real heroic."

The voice was undeniably Dirk, yet something seemed off. His entire demeanour, Dave realised, was more relaxed and cheerful. It was as though in the waking world there had always been a weight on Dirk's shoulders and Dave hadn't ever noticed at all. 

"Nah. Striders don't ever lose."

Dave's blood turned to ice.

"Don't turn this into a cheesefest, Dave. My arteries can't handle these high sugar levels."

Dave felt like he couldn't breathe and all around him it was just white, white, (Bro's body had vanished), and Dirk talking to a Dave that wasn't there. It had happened, this had happened, Dave could _feel_ it. This conversation had happened once upon a time. 

The question was no longer "who is Dirk". The question was " _who_   _the fuck am **I**?"_

"Only you can drag sentiment from me." Dave felt as though his heart was about to burst. His lungs weren't working. His limbs were frozen. There were only the  _th-ump'_ s ticking a clock in his chest. He could only stand frozen and listen as Dirk monologued. "I'm not going out there for a world. Mine was trashed anyway. I'm going for these dorks around me, but mainly you."

"Don't aww me. You asked for a heartfelt confession and you got it."

"I lived out there everyday with only your pixellated face to accompany me. Of course I care."

"I guess I still am going out there for a world. Just not _a_ world. _My_  world."

"Sure thing. See you on the other side, bro."

Dave's insides unclogged in an instant and he stumbled backwards, (why was he falling, why-?) his eyes, they-

flashed down to his chest where something was protruding-

it was a gravestone. It was a mark. It was a 'fuck you' to the skies and it stood out like an obscenity-

it was a sword hilt.

Dirk turned and as Dave fell he saw who Dirk had been talking to the entire time, it wasn't a person and it wasn't a puppet and it wasn't nothing at all.

It was a crow, perched on Dirk's arm. 

**_Caw!_ **

It took off in the same instant Dave hit the floor and the sword drove into the earth and he could only stare up at the white, white, white, stare up at the black dot that spiralled away and he knew it would never come back down.

Fuck the sky. Fuck the heavens and the land of the gods and the seconds that ticked in his veins and fuck the crows that all fluttered away into the white.

But he couldn't hate the crows, could he?

Not when

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _they had all been_ _him._

 

 

**Extra notes:**

1 Dirk stopped talking when he accidentally mentioned killing people with his fingers? Pinky, purple, zappy zap.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I'm starting to feel really uncomfortable about this romance. Let's put it this way: my stalker is a person who is rather firmly entrenched in my life. We live under the same roof. _Knowing that perhaps they're reading this and watching me makes me incredibly uncomfortable._ I fear deeply for the future of this fic. With this lingering sense of "wrong", I'm starting to doubt that I can give it the direction that I wanted. 
> 
> This isn't a pity fest - I'm just leaving this here to explain my qualms and my growing desire to discontinue this. Don't get me wrong, I am utterly invested in this, but it's like taking a shower in front of your sibling. (Yeah, haha, this is a story with incest and I'm comparing my feelings to something along the lines of actual incest, but that's a rant for another time.)
> 
> Back on topic: it feels so wrong, yet I'd feel guiltier than hell if I abandoned this.
> 
> So yeah. Conflict. I'm basically asking you advice for my reprieve or continuation. 
> 
> I'm not going to lie here and be humble or some shit, but honestly my work feels like complete utter garbage. I looked through the previous chapters and my expression bordered "what is this". You know, as in: I would only grieve over the effort that I've lost, rather than the writing, if I discontinued this? Either way, the sensation really isn't helping my currently conflict.
> 
> Thank you for your patience, people. I am deeply apologetic.


	17. 4d

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so many years and they're still using cable television
> 
> What an unrealistic world. I'm so sorry, ahaha. but i guess you could say they have priorities and they're not going to spend the millions of funds to go send up the first satellite and all that jazz?
> 
> (in the meantime dave is making movies. I'm horrible.)
> 
> edit: tenses lapsed at a point

Bleary city lights. Warmth and softness all around, the smell of-

Bacon? Was that bacon? Who actually ate meat in the mornings? Dave sat up and he was lying awkwardly in a heap of pillows with a blanket tossed on top. They tumbled off his chest and bounced forlornly to the floor. Why was he on his sofa? Why did it smell like bacon?

The answer to those questions was Dirk.

Dave stretched and yawned and thank god he didn't get any cramps from his odd bed. He felt strangely well-rested. His hand subconsciously drifted again to the front of his chest, but he stopped himself. There was no sword. Dirk was here. There were not tens of other Daves. Strange dreams, and although dreams were typically dismissed as ramblings of the mind, Dave couldn't shake these ones off. They clung to him in wisps.

A groggy bathroom trip, in which he realised it was still early. Good. He could take his time, then. (Despite the fact that he really wanted to eat) After a brief examination of last night's injury, he stopped in his bedroom to get changed and ready for work. Although usually shadeless in the apartment, he put a pair on because Dirk was around. He didn't feel  _that_ comfortable yet.

In the kitchen was Dirk. He was wearing one of Dave's shirts (!!!), surrounded by an array of frying pots and pans. The smell of pancakes and bacon wafted around and slapped Dave in the face.

"Don't you have a home to go back to?" Was the way Dave announced himself as he trudged in. He eyed Dirk's choice of attire warily. Sure thing, he'd already given Dirk liberty to barge into his life, but wasn't this overstepping just a few bounds? Dirk's eyes were bare, unlike Dave's. It was as though Dirk felt way too comfortable in the apartment. 

"Want me gone already?" Dirk mocked back. 

"I take that as a no, you hoverboarding nomad." Now Dave was feeling a little awkward. This was his kitchen, he was supposed to be the one busying around and fussing over his guests. Would Dirk accept his help to cook breakfast? The dishes looked about done, anyway. Dave just stood there, hovering in indecision of whether or not he should take a seat. Dirk slid a final pancake into one of the two plates.

"You're awfully good on timing. Popping up just in time for breakfast."

"I think, my most loyal maid, it's that yourcooking times are fine-tuned to the way my nose wakes up smelling sweet, sweet food."

"Got a dress and heels for me? I'll make the best maid you've ever had." 

"I've never had a maid."

"Exactly." Dirk set the two plates down and then disappeared elsewhere, presumably to the bathroom.

"Aren't you going to eat the fresh shit that you literally just cooked?" Dave called after him, digging out hardly-used utensils. 

"Give me a second."

Dave turned back to his food, and then decided it'd be foolish to wait. He did have work in an hour, after all. He was already dressed and practically ready to go, his phone was in his pocket, his cufflinks were clean and straight, his shirt wasn't stained with blood. Actually - what had happened to that shirt from the night before? Was it still on the coffee table? He was chomping on his breakfast when his phone, in his pocket, pinged.

\-- tentacleTherapist [ TT ] began pestering turntechGodhead [ TG ] --

TT: Your front door.

TG: yeah good morning

TG: welcome to the sunrise and glorious sunshine

TG: hope you like the weather too

TT: Your apartment door, Dave.

TG: what

TG: its just doing what it ordoornarily does

TG: doesnt everyone randomly crack down the middle

TG: it just wants to go on an adventure to find its other half itll be the most adoorable adventure

TG: such a touching love story i should make a film on this

TG: entire plot will hinge on that door

TT: Dave.

TG: about the splintered door the last of its kind

TG: what

TT: I received a notification this morning from your building manager and receptionist. 

TT: Why is your door broken?

TG: i was being a really pretty swooning princess and my prince needed to prove his manliness to me

TG: in an act of valour and undeniable bravery he faced down his final foe

TT: I take that you are in no trouble, then.

TG: the door

TT: I won't be arranging anyone to repair it for you.

TG: it went down with a crash and now im drawn to him like a magnet to a knight or something

TG: all that metal armour hot damn

TG: well be wed by nightfall i mean he cooked breakfast for me 

TG: food is perfection

TG: he found my true self rose

TG: buried inside all this movie directing and irony

TG: im actually just a food slut

TT: I know you skip meals too often. 

TT: Dave, your 'irony' knows no bounds. Who is this man?

TG: my beautiful beautiful prince

TG: swoon

TG: no im joking its actually just dirk

TT: Dirk? 

TG: bro

TT: Bro? His name is Dirk?

TG: huh didnt you know

TG: i thought you were supposed to know everything about him  

TT: No, at this point, I think I know less than you.

TT: I have gone great lengths to dig up his identity, as you so requested weeks prior.

TT: I have found nothing.

TG: did u call rox

TT: I did so yesterday. She has not yet replied. 

TG: woah this dude

TG: but hes in leagues with distri that would explain things

TT: An interesting turn.

TG: dunno theres lots of hidden shit 

TG: its a little tiring really but we dont bring it up a lot

TG: most of the time we just strife or something

Dave didn't mention last night's pillow fort. It felt a little too personal to share with Rosina, despite the fact that she was his close friend.

TG: but yeah he kicked down my door

TT: Should I be concerned?

TG: nah he was just cradling my sweet delicate flower body to bed

TG: where he performed a holy rite and i ascended to my true angelic

TG: food slut form

TT: You seem to bear less inhibitions towards him than I. 

TG: well yeah

TG: you literally just said that you know nothing about him

TG: whereas now i actually think hes ok

TT: My, my. Has Dave Strider been brainwashed?

TG: how is this even close to brainwashing

TG: acknowledging someones strengths and brainwashing are like oceans apart

TT: I don't trust him.

TG: well would you look at that alert the presses

TG: the tables have flipped so rapidly that theyre actually taking off into space these wild turning tables man

TG: whos talking now rose

TG: whos talking now

TT: I think, initially, perhaps you were correct.

TG: yeah i think so too

TG: and by that i mean that i think you were right at first

TT: I can't find a drop of information about him.

TT: Not one.

TT: I can only hope Roxy fares better. It is awfully suspicious that he has something he needs to hide at all.

TG: but you said he wouldnt hurt me and you trusted him

TG: when we first met him

TG: why

TT: I don't believe it's my place to tell.

TT: It, I think, is his only unmalicious secret.

TT: I should not have trusted him at the start.

TG: yo yo nah dont go back on what you said 

TG: its good

TG: hes good to have around he hasnt done anything shit or whatever

TG: had plenty of chances to stab me and rob me and humiliate me but im still going pretty good over here

TT: He wouldn't hurt you, Dave.

TT: That's not what I'm concerned about.

TG: whats that supposed to mean

TT: He's a man with secrets.

TT: I intend to find them.

\-- tentacleTherapist [ TT ] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [ TG ] --

Dave looked down at his phone and frowned. Trust was supposed to be mutual. Rosina wanted to barge in and dig her heels into Dirk's secrets, but then again, Dirk didn't trust her enough to tell her them in the first place.

(Dirk must've not trusted Dave enough, either.)

He set his phone aside with a click and kept shovelling food in his mouth. Oh god, oil. He was so used to eating quick shit like toast or cereal. Like... millionaire or no, quick was the way to go. 

Apparently there was music playing and he hadn't even realised until now. Had it been playing the  _entire_ night? That ridiculous record. Maybe Rosina was right. Maybe Dirk was brainwashing him with a vinyl song. The odd dreams had only really recently started up, when the record had started mysteriously appearing in his DiDroid. Maybe Dave should've asked Dirk about it. Except Dirk didn't say things he didn't want to tell, and if he was cornered, he'd make up some elusive, misleading sort of statement. Like: DiStri is in my pants.

Dave still didn't know how to feel about that. Damn, he was a little jealous of  _both_ men. It'd be cool just seeing the famous DiStri, and it'd be wonderful to snuggle straight up to Dirk.

Now, where had that thought come from?

Truthfully, Dave actually didn't have to worry about how the public would feel. Dirk had all his information well hidden, surely he could hide his existence as Dave's-

Dirk reappeared into the kitchen and Dave was very abruptly reminded that Dirk was a thousand leagues above him and would never bat an eye. He vaguely gestured with a fork of pancake towards the front door, pointing at a wall.

"Door." He said, elegantly, eloquently, still chewing. Dirk didn't care about etiquette. 

"DiDroid will get that done." Dirk replied picking up his plate and striding away into the living room. 

Dave swallowed. "It can do that? And oi, don't you even think about dropping a single millilitre of oil. I will actually drop  _you_  like a fry if you-"

"Oh, what's this? I dropped my food?"

"Real funny, Dirk, real funny." Nevertheless, Dave gathered up his own plate and trudged over to the room where he had spent his night. The other blonde was there, feet propped up on the coffee table as he chewed. His entire body was just laid out like that. Lazing and lounging with this sort of effortless elegance. While Dave generally considered himself the epitome of class, Dirk didn't  _need_ perfect posture or perfect etiquette to command grace.

Funny how Dave thought he dressed like an idiot only days prior. It was all the popped collar, Dave reasoned. And Dave's shirt. Yeah, only because Dirk was wearing Dave's shirt.

"Something wrong?"

Most amateur stupid thing in the book: stare at crush for too long. (What. No. Dirk wasn't a crush. Crushes were for children and little teenagers). Dave jerked his gaze away but wait, it should be fine, Dave was wearing his shades.   

The unbridled way that Dirk was watching him, though, made him feel utterly exposed. Ordinarily, no one would be able to read Dave. But Dirk was the pokerface  _god_ or some shit. He looked so practiced with wearing no emotions, with or without shades. 

This was so unfair.

"Nah." Dave lied. "Just looking for stains where you drooled out oil."

"That's what your bacon's actually soaked in. My drool."

Dave grimaced. Okay, technically swapping spit was kissing and all that, but eating something soaked in saliva was actually fairly gross.

He kept scoffing it down anyway.

"Sit down." Dirk said, in this tight balance between commanding and suggesting.

Dave plopped down. "Got work." Dave said through food, once again. "You'll keep me here on this couch forever and I'll never be able to leave."

"You can drive it to your shoot."

"Yeah it'll just be this giant L hurtling down the streets and leaping over other cars."

They bantered for a bit, Dirk nibbling at the dish while it disappeared down Dave like a black hole. Finally Dirk stretched and yawned, making to stand.

"I have work, too."

Dave quirked an eyebrow in response. 

"Your door." Was Dirk's only means of elaboration. "And other big shit."

"What sort of big shit? Like a shit so big that the toilet literally can't handle it anymore and erupts?"

He swore Dirk's lack of amusement was practically palpable. "Space. Up there, in the stars." Then would've been a perfect moment for them to be up on the roof at night, but alas. "As well as right here in your veins."

Stars? Veins? Blood, perhaps? This was out of Dave's grasp. "Sounds ambitious."

"You're talking to the man that made the one and only rocketboard. Of course I'm allowed to be ambitious."

"Okay okay, yeah, I totally believe in your prowess and I totally believe you can achieve your dream or whatever. Add more corny shit. Keep bragging to the DiDroid, I'm out." As Dave talked, Dirk seemed to tense. It was incredibly subtle, and Dave dismissed it. 

Dirk forced a little shrug and the DiDroid rolled over to take his plate. "Later, Dave." It was funny, really, how the apartment had basically become Dirk's, too.

Once Dave had left with his laptop, Dirk let his tension slip away and he basically melted onto the couch.

 _Holy shit._ He stared at the ceiling, as though willing the white to soothe him.

_You fucked up, Dirk._

\--

The day was dragging on, but at long last Dave could relax. During shooting, even when they had their breaks, Dave was typically still running around and high-strung. At least during the car ride home he could unwind and relax. Not nearly as effective as his strifes with Dirk, but welcomed nonetheless. 

Indifferent, he watched the driver ahead of him honk.

He wondered if Dirk would be home when he arrived, or if they'd continue their strifes. Dave could still feel the congealed wound on his chest threatening to break, so probably not. He hoped Dirk would be there, strife or no, even if just in the background while Dave worked. The man's presence was incredibly soothing. He was like a well-grounded platform in life. If they worked together, maybe Dave would be able to see some of that super secret space mission. Dave was a little curious as to what on earth it could be. But no matter what it was, it would probably be amazing. After all, Dirk had created the only rocketboard-

Wait.

The realisation hit like a brick, like some juvenile angrily throwing a giant brick at him. The brick was the king of all bricks, some super condensed shit-

Dirk had created the hoverboard.  _Dirk_ had created the hoverboard. Dirk had created the  _hoverboard._ It wasn't some gift from DiStri, Dirk had actually made the thing on his own, holy shit. With numb fingers, he pulled out his phone.

The implications crept in like rainclouds, and Dave held them in his hands.

\-- turntechGodhead [ TG ] began pestering tentacleTherapist [ TT ] --

TG: hey rose

TG: did roxy find him

TT: As of yet, no.

TT: She doesn't have heads nor tails of where to look. It's as though he doesn't exist.

TT: A ghost.

TG: well he has amber eyes if that helps at all

TT: Not particularly. The point being that no one, save you, has seen them.

TT: Yes, people may have glimpsed a shade-wearing man on the streets, but they have never witnessed anything incriminating.

TT: Given that he has higher connections, knowing that he has plenty of wealth at his disposal, presumably he would be dwelling in a apartment of higher caliber. Yet no receptionist claims to have ever seen him.

TG: how about this rose

TG: dont look for a random blonde called dirk

TG: look for distri

With that, Dave twisted the rainclouds and wrung them dry.

Droplets would fall and Dirk would look up to see the sky's tears. 

TG: any apartment with high gadgets inside try look for those

TG: and hes a real lover of having shitty things go look in a mediocre complex

TT: What do you mean by this?

TG: what do you think i mean rosina

TT: Surely not.

TT: There cannot be...

TT: Fair enough.

TT: Roxy will search for him. 

TT: I hope you know what you're doing, Dave. This may be an unwarranted breach of privacy. 

TG: rose it adds up it makes sense

TG: like shit dirk told me hes in distris pants he must be literally in his pants theyre not boyfriends in any case

TG: hes made the only hoverboard in the world

TG: his shades can even pilot that thing thats not something an ordinary person can grasp 

TG: and the way he wears those shades

TG: hes had them for a long time theyre definitely not something random like a gift from distri or whatever

TG: and if hes that freaking smart and there is actually another smart dude in the distri company of two 

TG: i find it hard to believe that the other dude might be smarter than dirk

TG: which means dirk is head of their company so he IS distri

TG: it all makes fucking sense rose

TG: i shouldve known from the start he gave me the damn camera right all just because he wanted to meet me

TT: Oh my god.

TT: It actually does fit.

TG: see

TT: His name: Dirk. DiStri. 

TT: It all abbreviates perfectly.

TG: wait what whats his last name

TT: Roxy will get on this immediately.

TG: wait rose whats his surname

\-- tentacleTherapist [ TT ] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [ TG ] --

TG: damnit rose

Dave's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. He didn't know when he was going to see Dirk again, and he could feel trepidation building up at the thought. The whole time Dave had been talking to a  _god,_ he'd even built a bloody pillow fort!

His head was an absolute mess of conflicting emotions. 

On one hand Dirk had thrown around cushions; tossed a shoe off a building; and talked just like a normal human being, trading banter with Dave. But then there had been that instance on the rocketboard where Dave could see just how amazing Dirk was, standing calmly and looking ahead while Dave screamed. He had looked influential in that moment, like a hero and an idol and a genius.

To top it all off, Dave still wanted to hold onto Dirk, bring him close and bury his nose in that spikey hair.

This would probably end poorly. Regardless, Dave was going to wing the fuck out of this entire situation.  

Maybe he'd get a cuddle at the end or something. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing. That's all there really is to say - you make my day a thousand times brighter.
> 
>  
> 
> (there is probably a gaping plot hole somewhere sorry.)


	18. 4e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unless Dave brushes his teeth before breakfast he never brushed them last chapter  
> pardon. my bad.
> 
> this chapter crashed twice in the making. Imagine a single tear running down my cheek.

Dave returned to an empty apartment with an intact door. Thank the world for small wonders. Had Dirk been there, Dave's mind would've probably exploded a little. Instead, he busied himself doing the usual: last-minute script edits, phone calls in the dead of the night; all in the day of a movie director.

A small wonder became a small concern as a week crawled by. Two weeks. Three. A month. The distant clock in his mind didn't help, counting the every second that they were apart. 

Every night after he returned home, Dave would check the roof. Each time he felt this surge of hope in his chest where he expected to see Dirk waiting for him. Each time he felt a rush of disappointment when the roof was empty. He had never considered Dirk a huge part of his life, yet the man's absence seemed to hit particularly hard. The apartment felt empty, the roof felt empty, the sight of his sword sent a twang through his chest. 

Dave swore he hadn't been this enamoured. He piled up all the cushions in his apartment onto the couch, as though that'd entice Dirk back.

Why had Dirk gone? The question lingered in the forefront of his mind. When he was directing, he suddenly remembered Dirk sitting in the rafters. When he was hunched in front of his desk with his laptop, he remembered who had revamped and redeveloped computers. Whenever he was in his apartment, he could recall the smell of bacon and he couldn't stop staring at his DiDroid. 

Had Dirk fled because he realised Dave had unveiled his great secret? That was a possibility. Perhaps he didn't trust Dave not to reveal his identity to the public. Perhaps he... Dave didn't know. But he could see how being DiStri could affect things. Maybe Dirk  _had_ really left for good because he couldn't risk his persona as DiStri.

(Dirk had never even trusted Dave. He'd never left a phone number or an address or even a surname.)

Dave felt a little hollow, a little angry. Dirk had come and gone so quickly. He'd barged into Dave's life, stolen his trust ( ~~and heart~~ ) and then swept away without another word. The worst part was that Dave only realised because  _Dirk_ had made an error! How dare he leave and hurt Dave like this because  _he'd_ fucked up. Fuck - Dave had it  _bad._

~~(Dave wasn't hurting it didn't hurt)(Dirk had only been around for maybe a month anyway it didn't hurt it didn't it didn't)~~

His temper boiled and bubbled throughout the fifth week. At one point an actor burst into tears after he yelled and criticised and swore. Honestly, fuck work. Rose called him - he answered her stiffly and then hung up. Jade sprung a surprise visit, and she listened to him vent about the mental capacity of his actors. He never, however, mentioned Dirk. Jade never asked. 

Rosina, in the meantime, called again soon after, and threatened to split his door. 

"Oh my god no, leave the door alone. What did the poor door ever do to you?" Dave had the phone jammed between his shoulder and head, still trying to scribble out a re-worked version of a scene he was particularly unhappy with.

"Recalcitrant Dave Strider, god help me, why is it that these days you resemble a  _petulant_ child?"

"I can only hear your big words, Rose. I don't understand. Go away."

" _Dave Strider."_ That was a warning.

"Shit Rosina, Rose, it's just work."

"That doesn't seem to be the case."

"Everything is absolutely _normal,_ Rose." That was the truth. Everything was normal, back to how it had been without Dirk. There had been no strifes or falling off buildings. There had been no surprising tasks like breakfast with another person. It was all normal and Dave _didn't like it at all_.

Sure it was misleading, but Rose seemed to accept it. "Sleep earlier, don't forget to eat, all the usual. You could easily command your DiDroid to give you reminders."

The mention of the DiDroid made Dave feel a bit sick. It was as though he had been trying to get lost in his work, but now Rose had to go slapping the fact in his face. "Nah." Dirk's absence was like a knife to the gut. 

"No? And why not?"

"Can't be bothered."

"Is there something wrong with your DiDroid, Dave?"

"I just can't be bothered fucking around with it. What about that don't you understand?"

"Is it that there's something wrong with DiStri, Dave?" She hit the nail right on the head and he hesitated for an instant. That tiny pause dug his grave. "What has he done?"

"Nothing." Dave said with numb lips, putting down his pen. "Nothing at all, and that's the problem."

"Please elaborate."

"No," he said. "I don't want to talk about it. Just go away, Rose. Honestly, it's nothing."

"I don't think so, Strider. I should've known you two would grow too close too quickly."

"What do youmean? Honestly, I- what the _fuck_  even- why does everyone keep everything from me? He's gone and I don't even know anything and I can't even go looking for him and he might just be gone  _forever._ " He was so exasperated. He was just so damn tired. 

"So that's the situation. Dirk hasn't turned up for a period of time."

" _So that's the situation?_ He's not here and I want him here and _I want him around, is that okay?"_ Dave was half-screaming at his phone at this point. He shouldn't have been so worked up, holy shit. What was wrong with him. 

On the other side, Rose simply paused to consider her words. "I see."

"God, I just- what is even wrong with me. He's just a random-"

"Dave."

"-asshole that said he was looking for another Dave Strider why am I even so hung up or shit it doesn't make sense-"

"Dave."

"-just hit swords and random little shit this isn't right at all what the fuck I'm like a goddamn fly caught in a web."

"Dave, it's perfectly normal."

"How is this normal  _I wasn't even gay_!"

That stunned Rose into silence. That stunned Dave into silence, too. He fucked up. Why did he have to blab. He fucked up big time, he fucked up, shitttt- "If it offers you any comfort, Dave," she said gently, "I myself have been homosexual for a while, too."

Dave still didn't have any words. He just wanted to hang up the phone, crawl into his blankets and pretend nothing had ever happened at all. 

"But, Dave Strider, you cannot harbour any romantic feelings towards Dirk." Her words formed something like an icy vice around his heart. He could  _feel_ it, this looming raincloud right above his head and it was all about to come crashing down. "They will not be requited. You will hurt yourself."

"And why the hell is that?"

"He never told you, did he, Dave? His last name is Strider. Dirk Strider."

A pause.

That _couldn't_ be, shit. No, no,something inside him shattered. "No wait, no, no, no, that can't be true that can't be true, please tell me you're lying."

"I said at the very start that proved me one fact and one fact only - and it had been your genetic relation. He performed a scientific miracle in mapping out his entire genome and comparing it with yours."

He hardly heard her. "You must've gotten it wrong somewhere, no, it can't be true. No he _can't_ be my _brother_." They had the same fucking hair and that same stupid pokerface and the same affinity for swords and same shitty irony- Why hadn't Dave ever guessed? It seemed more true by the passing second and he could feel his heart splinter. "Please tell me you're lying, Rose. Please tell me that he lied to you." 

"The facts shocked me, too. You've never mentioned a sibling."

" _I've never had one_!"

"Your parents, in their absence, must've had another, then. A prodigy, who quickly took over the original DiStri's business, I expect."

"Of course he'd be a prodigy. Of course he'd be great. Of course, he's a  _Strider_ for fuck's sake I can't- Jesus, fuck this, Rose. Fuck this, fuck this, I really can't." He'd only break down like this in front of Rose.  _She_ felt like his sibling, Dirk- Dirk didn't. He didn't feel like a family member. He didn't feel like someone Dave went to for help or went to help, and it sure as hell didn't feel like family love. Love? When had it become love?

"But Dave, do not fret. Dirk will return. I am sure of it."

"Dirk goddamn _Strider_..." The amusing little surname that he'd always been proud of suddenly felt like a sin. He pushed himself away from his desk and stumbled over to his bed. He wasn't crying. He definitely wasn't crying.  ~~Striders didn't cry~~. Dave was so disgusting, he'd fallen for his little brother. He was such a sick twisted bastard and he didn't deserve to ever see Dirk ever again.

"It's all right, Dave."

"It really isn't, Rose. It really isn't okay _none of this is okay at all_." He collapsed onto his bed and felt like dying. "I'm not going to work tomorrow. I'm not going anywhere. I hate this so much." He muttered into the blankets.

"You have to go to the set tomorrow."

"I can't-"

"You can and you will." Rosina said firmly. Her voice softened a little. "It'll help you feel better, I promise. Our hearts all mend themselves with time."

"But he'll come back because I'm his brother _._ He'll visit me everyday because I'm his brother. He'll love me so much because I'm his _brother_."

In contrast to his anger towards the world, Rose was calm like a solid rock in a storming ocean. "It'll be all right, Dave. It won't hurt forever."

Dave just sort of deflated. His anger chewed him out and left him hollow, like a shell. Emotions - all that passion: joy, love, anger, and now just this crushing, crushing disappointment. "Yeah, okay. Thanks for worrying about me, Rose." The words came out of his mouth and he hardly recognised them.

"It's my duty."

"This was probably for the best."

"I'm incredibly sorry, Dave. I never wanted this to happen. I never expected that you'd develop feelings for him."

"He probably didn't, either."

Rose could likely tell that he was beating himself up right now. She could probably tell, too, that she wouldn't be able to get through of his shield of self-loathing. With a distant sort of goodbye, he hung up.

He would never have Dirk. 

Dave was such a sick crappy damn bastard, and even Dirk thought so. Dirk, his  _brother,_ had never told him that they were related and had never told him anything about his childhood or his friends. Dirk initially had claimed that he wanted to knock Dave down a peg, but knowing that they were related would've sparked something different. Dave wouldn't have felt inferior and humbled, he would've felt proud of Dirk, proud that someone of the same blood was so clever and so smart and so unfairly gorgeous. So Dirk didn't mention their relation at all. _  
_

Now Dave just felt ashamed. He had never been worthy of the knowledge that he was related to the great DiStri. He'd only managed to force it out of Rose because she needed to stop him before he went confessing to Dirk or something equally as stupid. Imagine if he confessed. Would Dirk have told him the truth, then?

Dave was despicable, and most of all, he still wanted Dirk to come back. It was funny, how in high school and even into the start of his career, he had always laughed at the lovesick people. They all seemed so blinded and melodramatic. But now, a little bit splintered, Dave felt like he could relate. Aside from Dirk, what else really mattered? Even if he had all the money in the world, even if he had all the fame and all the skills and all the friends, he would still just be a lonely man with a misplaced heart.

\--

Rosina was right. Work flushed out his thoughts and anchored his mind onto one of the only other things he was really passionate about. He became one of those fervent directors who worked tirelessly night and day. He pushed Dirk Strider to the back of his mind (but he was always there, god, wasn't he always?) and tried to fix his life.

The record never played anymore. It sat on the shelf and gathered dust beside his sword. 

But he knew Dirk would come back. 

The man turned up not a week after Rose's phone call. 

The morning was bright, Dave stumbled out of his bedroom and there was Dirk, curled up on the couch. His unshaded eyes were gently shut like windows and his skin was a little sickly pale. Pillows were absolutely everywhere, it looked as though Dirk had just collapsed straight onto the sofa. His arms were tucked tightly against his chest and he was out like a light. Utterly unconscious. He looked like a puppet with its strings cut, like someone had just picked him up and tossed him haphazardly into Dave's apartment. 

Dave went back into his bedroom, grabbed his blanket, and then approached like he would a butterfly. Dirk was delicate, and ... injured? There were deep-set bags beneath his eyes, and he slept dreamless, as though he'd passed out. There were black stains (oil?) all over his hands, his arms, and even his face. He carefully covered Dirk in the blanket.

\-- turntechGodhead [ TG ] began pestering tentacleTherapist [ TT ] --

TG: im not going to work today

He'd never seen Dirk sleeping before. As late as their strifes had sunken into the night hours, Dirk had never really seemed tired. Dave always imagined Dirk to be someone above sleeping, as though, like a god, he'd ascended a rank above normal human necessities. But now Dirk looked frail and breakable and maybe he was still made of stone, but precious stone, like a gem that could shatter. 

Dave decided that it'd be pretty fitting if he went and made bacon. He kept peeking back into the living room when he was supposed to be cooking, just to make sure that he'd be there when Dirk woke, and just to make sure Dirk didn't start having a stroke or start dying or anything, really. 

He probably just broke the speed record for 'cooking while running in and out of the room'.

Dirk looked like a sleeping angel. A sleeping, broken, little angel. It was too easy to forget that Dirk was still years younger than him. Dave set down the plate of bacon and scarfed down his own burnt ones as he paced around and around the room. Sitting still wasn't an option. 

The exhausted Dirk on the couch must've come for a reason. Did he need Dave to fix him, like a good brother? Did he need a friend or a family member?

Right, but Dirk didn't know Dave knew they were related.

Dave could pretend, for just a little while longer, that maybe...

He gently eased himself onto the couch beside Dirk and stroked a hand through the wayward hair. His fingers ran on their own accord, sliding down from hair to trace smooth skin and a pronounced jawline. Dirk was illegally pretty. His chest rose and fell in gentle waves, and Dave could hear his every breath. He felt like he'd never sat or been so close to Dirk before. He had never been able to look so closely and note every single tiny detail.

It sure as hell didn't feel brotherly.

Dave's own heart was thumping in his chest and threatening to burst. This would be the last time he could do this without Dirk pulling away in disgust, this was the last time he could look with such unbridled  ~~love~~ affection in his eyes and wow he felt a little bit like crying. This beautiful, beautiful person sleeping here beside his lap would never be his. Initially, he had regarded his stupid attraction as something a bit like a crush, with all the time in the world to dream and hope maybe one day. Now it was a sinking ship, now it was a man on his last days.

Dirk's skin was smooth, his eyelashes long, and the artist in Dave tried to memorise his every feature. Maybe one day he'd put it all down onto paper. Maybe his pencils would scratch along something too rough and maybe it'd lay his heart out in lead.

Eyelids fluttered, and Dave froze. Guilt welled up inside him. His hand stilled, but remained gently cupping Dirk's cheek. With his heart in his throat, Dave watched as Dirk stirred, and then continued sleeping. He could've been caught. Dirk would've been disgusted. 

Abruptly, his phone buzzed and the sudden tinkling ringtone was the one he had set for Rose. He withdrew from Dirk and darted away to the kitchen, "Rosina?" He asked in hushed tones.

"What do you think you're doing, Mr Strider?"

"I'm a little bit busy today." Too busy stroking my forbidden love's face, sorry.

"And why is that?"

"Dirk showed up. He's unconscious in the living room right now."

The silence that stretched was practically palpable. "I will take care of him. Dave, go to work."

"No!" He immediately protested, and then lowered his voice. "He came here looking for  _me,_ Rose. Not you."

"He went to the only man he could trust: you. This will be a suitable opportunity to prove that I, too, am reliable."

"He trusts me? Of course he _doesn't_. But he came _here_ , alright? He's here, I'm going to stay, I'm not going to work today. Everyone can deal with one day off."

"You're being incredibly childish, Dave."

He hung up and left his phone on the kitchen counter. Did Rose realise that he  _needed_ this? This one last moment before Dirk became Dirk Strider? Dave padded back into the living room and knelt, on the floor, beside the sleeping man (god, he looked young). It was as though there was some sort of soothing aura that came over him when he watched Dirk sleep, because he felt his annoyance immediately slip away. His hand moved on its own accord, tracing along Dirk's cheek.

 _Aren't you practically molesting him, Dave?_ He felt sick with himself. Sick, yet powered on by the knowledge that this would never happen again.

Eyelashes twitched; bleary, opening, orange eyes met red. Dave's breath hitched and his heart was caught in his throat. 

They simply gazed at each other for a long moment. Dave could lose himself in those eyes, drown.

With slow movements, Dirk uncurled his hands and tentatively reached out for his ~~brother~~. "Dave?" His voice was low and raw, and Dave was reminded of that moment when he'd first called Dirk's name.

"I'm here." He answered softly.

"Dave, fuck, _Dave_." Dirk murmured his name with reverence, and suddenly he was sitting up and both arms were reaching out to wrap around Dave. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, sorry, sorry-"

Dave let Dirk bury his face into his shoulder, his own arms hesitantly coming to stroke Dirk's hair. Why-? What had broken Dirk like this?

He felt as though he was seeing Dirk stripped of everything - his fame, his cool, his skills, everything that made up his identity. He felt like he could hear Dirk's heartbeat, felt like he could finally see his core. Dirk was so alone, so afraid. He was like a careful machine, and he had been _shattered_ ; for the first time, Dave could see the inner cogs turning and all the wires working. 

"I left you alone- fuck, I let you die." Dirk clutched on tighter, swayed. "I'm going to die, Dave. I'm going to die."

"It'll be alright." Dave turned his head and murmured into blonde hair. 

"I'm sorry, Dave. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, I'm going to die-"

"Not before me." And then he gently pressed his lips against Dirk's skin, like an almost-there kiss. He wasn't panicking, he wasn't nervous; it felt right to do. And Dirk didn't stiffen or pull away, simply relaxed under Dave's touch. Dave knelt like that for a while, with Dirk hugged tightly into his chest. The silence settled over them like a thick blanket.

"Sometimes, I work fanatically." He finally muttered against Dave's shoulder. Dirk was putting himself back together, bringing up those masks of his that hid all emotions and motives. "Anxiety is like a guillotine that comes down whenever I try to stop. Barely kept eating, showering, or sleeping."

"Runs in the family, huh?" The words slipped from his mouth and he didn't regret them at all.

He felt Dirk tense in his arms. 

"There ain't nothing to be afraid of." Dave continued, kissing his hair. "Your secrets won't throw me. Nuh uh. Dave Strider, king of buckaroo riding over here, lassoing all these secrets like it's my job or something."

His random babbling seemed to calm Dirk, so he continued. 

"So yeah, I know, we're family or something, our genetic code is pretty similar and that means these damn chromosomes and their big fat exes are blocking my way to the yaois. That's pretty rude, man. Holding up their crosses being all 'you shall not pass.'"

"Not really." Dirk uttered quietly. "They're not the biggest issue." 

"Yeah, I agree. The biggest issue here is that I like your face." Dave nuzzled Dirk's soft hair, smiled a sad smile. "M' so fucked up. Sorry."

"It's fine." Dirk said and Dave sighed.

"I'll understand if you don't want to visit me and hang out anymore." 

"I'll understand if you don't like my face by tomorrow." Dirk leaned back and met Dave's eyes. "Brothers isn't even the most pressing thing."

"Dude, the only thing worse than brother is being my  _father_ as well. But thats's not possible, because you're younger than me."

"Mhmm." Dirk hummed back, slipping out from his nest of blankets and pillows to sit on the couch. Dave rose from his knees and settled next to him, their shoulders pressed together. Dave was taking advantage, he knew that, to get as close and affectionate as he could while Dirk was in this weak emotional state. (What on earth had he broken him?) When Dirk got better, when he wasn't looking for affection and love wherever he could, Dave would be tossed aside. It would kill Dave, but for now...

Dave sat there and thought this was the last day of the world: tomorrow they'd wake and be brothers.

Dirk sat there and thought this was the last day of the world: tomorrow Dave would call him a monster.

After all, he _had_  sent out a signal from his apartment for Roxy to find.

Their fingers laced and Dirk swung his legs over Dave's lap, leaned into Dave's chest. Dave held him with a sort of desperation. 

"This isn't pity." Dirk murmured against his shirt. "That'd be cruel."

"Fuck this, just- can we pretend it's the last night of the world or something cheesy like that?" 

"I'm sure it's night right now." Dirk seeped sarcasm. Outside, the morning sun shone brightly. 

"Are you saying we're not gonna stay like this all the way until night?"

"Of course we are. Should've known you were secretly the biggest cuddle bug on the planet." Despite his words, Dirk certainly didn't seem to have any objections; he was practically jelly by Dave's side. They simply held each other in silence for a long time, and Dave thought he probably could do this the entire day.

His chest felt warm and all he wanted to do was stay there, with Dirk's reassuring weight against him. Their actions spoke volumes more than words, true to the Strider way. Dave could feel the unspoken admissions hanging in the air.

Dirk didn't hate him, Dirk didn't abandon him, he needed Dave (as support, as a brother, not a _lover_ ) and he always would come back. 

Dave didn't give a shit that he was DiStri. He wouldn't care less about their genetics either, if it weren't for the fact that Dirk would probably be disgusted, that incest was illegal. 

Dave thought he probably loved Dirk just a little bit. (A lot). Dirk was sculpted by these layers of identities and Dave wanted to peel them away, love every one of them. His phase as Bro and Capman was enigmatic and, in hindsight, not actually too rude. As Dirk, he had been shocked and panicked when he cut Dave; and as Dirk Strider... That, Dave had yet to see. Dirk seemed to get more fragile, yet more beautiful every time Dave saw him. He was like a work of art, a flower that was carved of both glass and diamond. 

_Ping!_

That was the sound of a pesterlog message, but Dave had left his phone on the kitchen counter.

This user is not on your pesterchum list. Do you want to add them? 

\-- tentacleTherapist [ TT ] began pestering timaeusTestified [ TT ] --

TT: Tell me, is Dave quite done? I feel that I've waited for long enough now. 

TT: No.

Dave reached forwards and took the phone from Dirk's hands. 

TT: jesus rose get off my back for two seconds

TT: its one day itll be fine okay this is way more important

TT: Really now. I thought you'd be more responsible about this. 

TT: are you seriously kidding me 

TT: sorry my friends been gone for like a month because he went full workaholic mode

TT: and i flipped out because im insecure or something but now hes back

TT: seriously rose cant you give me a day of makeup time

TT: It was the lack of communication between you two that called for this 'makeup.'

TT: The mistakes between you two should not be affecting your work.

TT: This is a dysfunctional relationship, and I will not condone it.

TT: relationship?

TT: excuse me for a second here what 

TT: You just called Dirk your 'friend.'

TT: He is not your friend. He is your brother and you well know that.

TT: I see here denial. I told you to stop pursuing this.

TT: woah woah woah hold up rose you dont dictate my life okay?

TT: thats my film this is my brother and hell 

TT: i listen to your advice all the time but jeez this once

TT: back off

TT: You didn't even tell Jade about this. You kept this from her. You won't even let your friends help you.

TT: How blind are you?

TT: You know nothing about this man. What you do know is incredibly suspicious. 

TT: rose

TT: He left you alone with no word for a month and you  _broke._ _  
_

TT: that was okay he had his reasons

TT: Don't defend him.

TT: He hurt you and he'll keep hurting you.

TT: wow look at these assumptions

TT: Wow, look at your gullibility and naivety. 

TT: Are you pleased with yourself, Dave?

TT: You've managed to antagonise me and all of your other friends in favour of this one man.

TT: yeah

TT: might sound like a jerk but

TT: i actually am happy 

He had his nose buried in Dirk's hair and they were both looking down at the small screen. Dirk raised his hands and placed them over Dave's, and capitalised the first letter that Dave was typing.

TT: I think it might be because I love him just a little bit or something

TT: Maybe, right?

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] --

 

**Extra notes:**

Siblings tend to share 50% ± 5% of their genetics. So it probably wouldn't be difficult to convince Rosina that they were brothers. Dirk or Rosina could easily snag some bit of Dave DNA somewhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THIS IS HORRIBLE.**
> 
> -ly beyond repair.


	19. 4f

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I think it would be real interesting to hear the perspective of someone who started reading at chapter 14. It's probably really confusing. Um. Sorry.
> 
> this fic probably seems like a mess, considering there are so many emotions going on at once and that I tend to end up dedicating about one line to them. Then that's like too much to process so you guys ultimately think: wtf is going on in Dave or Dirk or Rose's mind. 
> 
> Condensed writing. rip planning. What is planning. I always stray from my plot plans anyway, and random shit pops up instead and then Dirk has an entirely different motive. It's so goddamn unorganised, man. 
> 
> This is probably just going to be a really self-indulgent fic. I've made it my sole duty to go ahead and wing the _entire story_ , heh. Fuck.

There was a dim light in the darkness of Dave's bedroom: a phone screen. Dave was sitting upright in his bed, Dirk dreaming away at his side. 

TT: You know that I messaged Dirk Strider yesterday. That would mean I had located his persterchum handle.

TT: Your logical deduction should tell you this:

TT: We found him and his apartment.

TT: I will send you the co-ordinates.

TT: Perhaps this will help you come to your senses.

TT: I do not trust you to go alone. I will be waiting in the apartment foyer to accompany you.

Dave frowned down at his phone, his other hand absently carding through Dirk's hair. Dirk had been anxious all throughout last night about this "big revelation" Dave was supposed to have. He'd probably left some clue in his apartment, so this DiStri apartment investigation would be the big judgement of "whether Dave would still love him."

Pfffft, Dirk worried too much. 

Oh the other hand, Rosina was still probably incredibly angry at him for yesterday. He didn't think he'd enjoy this encounter. It would probably be the grumpiest, least collaborative search ever.

He left Dirk a little kiss on the nose and then slipped out of bed, tossing together an outfit. He honestly didn't have any casual clothing, so he just wore his usual dress shirt and left the apartment completely tousled. The receptionist gave him a bit of an eyebrow raise when he walked out of the building with his hair dishevelled. 

Constantly eying his phone, he traversed the streets. Most buildings around the city were new. Their city was actually incredibly wealthy, probably all thanks to DiStri, which was likely why Dave could even make a living off the luxury goods that were films.

Dave wondered who the previous DiStri had been, before Dirk. There was no way Dirk was that old. Had it been someone else in his family? Who knew.

A few glances and looks were thrown to him as he made his way down the footpath. It was still (very) early morning, so the usual hustle and bustle was missing. Dave felt a little surreal. He hardly ever went out on walks. The buildings looked a thousand times taller from the ground, and he couldn't help but note the every detail of the every thing he passed. There was a wall plastered with the same advertisement, tape layered where it had been torn off and stuck on again and again. There was a cleaner, who dutifully kept her head down as Dave passed, as though trying to blend into her surroundings and work undisturbed. Everything was textured in greys, except those bright flapping neon signs that hung, unlit, in front of stores.

It wasn't exactly perfect. But it wasn't quite a shithole, either. 

Dave knew the street that Dirk lived on. It wasn't too grand, wasn't too shabby, and wasn't too far of a walk, either. He was there in no time, his neat black shoes carrying him across crossroads of concrete. 

The building was actually rather tall for its caliber. Dave could see it stretching away into the sky, and through the glass doors of the foyer, he could see Rosina waiting inside. How she had gotten in was a mystery for another time. She opened the door for him, her face as calm and collected as usual. They didn't greet each other - Dave walked in and immediately headed for the elevators. 

The receptionist desk was suspiciously empty. No wonder no apartment manager had evern seen Dirk's conspicuous, obvious face. 

He had never experienced such an awkward, stifling elevator ride. He rather pointedly stared at the ground. She was probably scrutinising the shit out of him, and to make matters worse, they were heading to one of the uppermost levels. Rosina didn't even say anything, she just stood there with her shitty passive-aggressive presence or something, and that alone was probably supposed to pressure Dave into apologising to her.  

Except he didn't have anything to say sorry about. Sorry I fell in love with a dude?

_Ding!_

There were only two doors on this floor. Dave had the nagging suspicion that both of them probably belonged to Dirk. Actually, Dirk had likely bought the  _whole entire building_ by now. Even Dave didn't go throwing money around so frivolously. Most of the time, Dave actually gave to this unnamed charity with a good cause: harbouring mutant trolls and keeping them safe, in the human city, away from public eye. Dave knew what it felt like to be an outcast; he wanted those unfortunate trolls to have a place to live.

It was probably a questionable use of money, but Dave had visited a few of the apartments that he'd help fund. The trolls in there... they were just like people. They  _were_ people. They hid their horns and went about inconspicuous jobs. They lived dirty, dirty lifestyles with golden hearts because they were only living due to kindness. What comes around goes around, or something like that. 

As he had thought before: the city wasn't exactly perfect, but it wasn't a shithole, either. 

During the time when he'd been musing, Rosina had whipped out lock picks and opened the door closest. (He probably didn't want to know why she had lock picks, or why she knew how to use them). She was ticking away at the other, and Dave went to investigate the now-open apartment.

There were things lying everywhere: the table was piled with blankets, of all things. A coffee mug sat on the floor at the base of a ratty couch, and if Dave looked carefully, he could see a fine layer of dust coating the edges of the room. Despite all the crap everywhere, it didn't exactly give off a homely vibe. It felt empty without _being_ empty. He didn't know what he was expecting to find, but he proceeded, anyway.

The first door appeared to be a bedroom. There was a desk with locked drawers and a bed that looked relatively unused. Dave was more interested in the desk, but he wasn't the one with lock picks. The piece of furniture looked incredibly forlorn and old; he gave it a little shake, nothing rattled; and Dave was fairly sure that Dirk had emptied it not long ago. On the other hand, the closet was one of the more used parts of the apartment - Dave spotted Dirk's suit on one of the clothes hangers. 

The second room was a bathroom. Dave wasn't too interested in that.

Now, the  _third_ door...

It looked innocent. It was plain, real simple, but Dave couldn't help but feel some sort of familiarity. His hand hovered above the knob, considering. What would he find inside? Was this nostalgia- did he live here once upon a time? He never remembered having a brother, but maybe he was hypnotised or some shit. Maybe Dirk was a wizard as well as a mechanic. 

The door swung open before he even touched it. 

Fucking wizardry. 

As soon as he saw the room's walls, the nostalgia rang hard and he stumbled inside. 

The door quietly shut behind him. On its own violation. He turned to look and holy jesus that was not a normal door at all. From this side, there was metal and circuitry lacing across it like tied string. Cogs and rubbers sprawled across the entire expanse like cities. The door and its frame were metal-reinforced _what the fuck_ was so important about this room?

He turned, and there was the nostalgia again, it hit like wave and it hit hard. He was clinging onto the shore for dear life because mother of god, what was all this?

It was a normal bedroom.

A bed, a desk, a chair, a chest of drawers, a very old laptop alongside headphones that looked far bulkier than Dave was used to. It looked goddamn ancient, right out of the stone ages. Another anachronism was the turntable set in the corner. Nothing was dusty, Dirk probably kept all this shit in pristine condition, but the designs were outdated as hell. These days, things were so much slicker than these... clunky, yet ornate contraptions. 

There were these objects that looked a bit like rectangles of plastic stacked on the table, hidden from the sunlight filtering in from the single window. There looked like thick, unbending plastic sheets that had newspapers (what?) imbedded in them. 

What was this room and why was it important? Dave approached the desk for answers. He ignored the newspapers and went to the laptop, gently opening the lid. He didn't want to break this pricey crap. This room was a weird antique collection or something - except the chair. The chair was actually okay. Otherwise, it would've probably broken when Dave sat on it. 

The most shittiest desktop wallpaper greeted him, pixellated and bright coloured, and there were only a few things on the screen. He moved the mouse (who used mouses?) and clicked on the most fishy one: video feed. A window, split into six, popped up. He saw every room of the two apartments, minus the bathrooms, and there was Rosina, fiddling around in something that looked like a workshop. She seemed particularly enraptured by a violin in the room.

Huh. Pretty interesting. He moved that over to the side. 

Then he began on the folders on the desktop. There was one called "gods" and when he opened it, he was greeted with photo thumbnails. He couldn't quite make them all out, so he just selected them all and opened.

Now then. 

The very first image was surprisingly gorgeous for its shitty quality. An image of the night sky and the city rooftops, where the city shone brightly and the stars were choked. Dave was a little shocked that he could see the stars at all. Nowadays, it was actually just this thick haze of grey. 

The next one had Dirk in it. It was practically the same image, but the man was silhouetted by the lights and Dave could see from the smooth face that he was a lot younger. When had these photos been taken? He'd check the date of these later. 

The one after that kicked Dave in the gut. It was a picture of a blonde boy, asleep and open-mouthed on a whole version of the couch in the living room outside. That was him. That was definitely Dave. Even the little way he curled up on himself when he slept was reflected, but this Dave looked at ease. Was this his childhood? He had never lived with anybody, not when he was still a child. He never had  _any_ of this shit.

Dirk at the turntables. Dave at the turntables. A dorky, tousle-haired, glasses-wearing kid, taking a picture with Dave.

A lifetime flashed by Dave's eyes.

He watched the Dave in the photos age, saw parties with laughing girls and tons of pictures with that messy-haired boy. Most of all, though, he found himself seeing pictures and pictures of Dirk. Dirk when he was lazing around on the couch, Dirk tossing a pillow at the camera, Dirk still waking in the morning, pictures of Dirk's  _hands,_ Dirk pulling out machinery from his katana... The two Striders in the photos looked too carefree to be true. Dave was so accustomed to being stressed everyday, needing to catch phone calls every infernal hour, that the absence of tautness under this blonde boy's eyes seemed alien.

Present Dave Strider was hella confused. 

And then he reached the last photo.

Thing was, he was skimming and immediately tried to skip to the next one, except there  _were_ none after it. And once he had taken a longer glance, he was stuck. Because holy shit, the ramifications hit and they hit harder than the nostalgia. 

A park.

A  _park._ Bodies. _Troll_ bodies. Rotting and bloating and even Dirk was there and the image was disgustingly detailed.

When Dave was still in school he'd learnt about that park. Its name had changed throughout the ages, but it was most famously known as "Eternity's Reserve", playing a large role in lynching and the degradation of human troll relations. It had been romanticised and noted as a heroic place, helping humans rise to rightfully kick out the inferior trolls. Dave had hated it. He'd hated that stupid park, and now this picture-

There was no way, but there was also no way it  _wasn't._ The bodies were real and those were real trolls and those grass blades were real, those flowers were real, that man was real, yet-

The reserve had been renovated, felling most of its trees, over _forty years ago._

He quietly closed all the images and felt his stomach drop further at when he saw, listed next to each file, their 'date of creation.' He sat there for a long while, just watching a digital clock in the corner of the screen tick down. 

This had to be fabrication, this had to be some giant ploy. Maybe there was some kid who looked a lot like Dave, and  _that_ was why Dirk had left all this shit for Dave to find. Maybe they were just two eerily similar people. Four, including Dirk. It was a stretch, but what other explanation was there? He closed that folder and moved onto one called "rad present". They were all recordings, as old as the pictures, and with careful fingers, he reached for the headphones. 

Oh my god no that was definitely Dirk, it sounded exactly like Dirk, holy shit. This was blowing Dave's mind all the way to the sky and back. Dirk was rumbling on about some bullshit SBURB game, and there was this higher, squeaky voice that Dave swore was definitely not him. 

But what was this SBURB talk? It was some random, illogical story. Dave couldn't hear anything save its retelling in his ears. Nonsense uttered by familiar lips. It carried on for what felt like hours: this long, convoluted tale that ended in everybody dying. Dave skipped through some parts, unwilling to actually stay and burn so much time. 

The squeaky voice aged and flowed and grew to become something far, far more recognisable as he sat there, in a trance, listening through the clips. "I did say one day I've give all this shit to you as some ironic present. So here it is, some huge stupid reflection on my life or something like that. You'll probably like this, considering your long boring immortal life. And considering we'll probably give some really ironic, jaded goodbyes instead of our true manly tears." This time, the somewhat familiar Dave voice was speaking directly into the microphone, alone. Without Dirk. "It's actually real funny how you wonder how much you fucked me up, because I wonder the same thing. As in I wonder how much _I_ fucked _you_ up, not how much you fucked me up."

The Dave paused. "I'm happy with Jacob, I really am, but sorry, people don't really forget their first loves. Crushes. Significant others- okay, you know what, I know you're sniggering right now as you're listening to this. Stop sniggering at me, Dirk. Calling you my significant other ain't the most embarrassing thing I've ever done." He sounded so serious. 

_Oh._

"I know I said it was a small crush or something, but shit, this stuff is way too intense to be fair. But you're right, you're pretty much always right, I  _am_ fucked up a little bit. Hero admiration or something? Some desperate pining subconscious crap? I honestly have zero idea. Zero. Zip. Nada. Squat. So zero it's like the temperature of ice. It's real easy to say and believe it's genuine unfiltered cutesy sappy romantic love, but I can't actually dig around in my own head. There's no mine entrance that says "this way into Dave Strider's giant brain where you can look and see if this is pure love". And because it's actually impossible to figure this shit out, I'm just gonna assume that I fucked up at some point in my upbringing."

Dave was hardly listening to the rest of it. He short-circuited at _Dave Strider._

"I get that you're probably still beating yourself up about it: you fucked me up, I fucked myself up, or whatever gives. But that's blown over by now, yeah? I've got Jacob and he- he's pretty damn great. Not the same as you; no one could be the same as you and  _oh my god_ I sound so cheesy.

"Just do me a favour and don't immediately pick up the next Dave from whatever concrete shithole he's in. Not when he- I'm- a kid. 'Cause then you'll doubt yourself forever and you'll never  _really_ know if I actually... love you. Something like that. Go be strangers or something, screw the entire brother thing until he's- I've- made up his mind. 

"I'm not retarded. I know incest is a thing and I know it's not because of deformed kiddies or whatever, but consent. Can't get jack free consent with family at all. These  _family_ bonds just override everything, twist everything, and I have no idea if I'm seeing straight at all. I can  _feel_ like I'm free, but I might not actually be. And I know that probably tears you apart with how fucked up that might make me. It's probably healthier for us both that you never really wanted me back. 

"So there you have it." Crisp. "Ironic as shit- well. It was genuine, which makes it unexpected, and being unexpected makes it ironic. So  _yes,_ Dirk, this is still rad as hell, and I hope maybe we'll see each other one day on the streets or something. I dunno. I know I'll definitely see some giant jerk called DiStri in the newspapers and know you'realive. That's probably actually more reassuring, because even if I die you know _I'll_ keep popping up. Knight of Time right? That's probably why I keep my name. See you."

The clip ended there.

 _Knight of Time._ The phrase rung bells. It did more than ring bells, it fucking smashed bells and the glass chimes went crumbling to the floor. 

Nothing was adding up. Nothing made sense. Dave replayed the clip. Maybe this was just some giant prank, maybe some kid who, what? Just  _happened_ to look and sound identical to him, and was brothers with someone who looked and sounded identical to Dirk? Yeah, right. Nothing made sense at all. 

He picked up the newspapers in their plastic containments, and the first thing that jumped out at him was the date of the newspapers. That one was  _way too many years ago holy jesus no._

They were all finely preserved and he could see their every texture through the plastic. It was probably some special non-toxic plastic, too. He could see the every word and every crease, and he read them all. 

The "Angel's massacre." Uh huh. He knew that one. He had to wonder, though, why it was preserved with the rest of them.

Someone called Rosaline Lalonde had killed herself and her name sounded unnervingly similar to Roses'. Correction: Rosina. Dave felt his brain pause mid-thought. Rose had been one of the "gods" playing that SBURB game Dirk had mentioned, and Rosina said that Rose sounded right and even Dave had agreed. This didn't make sense at all.  _Jade._ She had been a name in the game.  _Roxy._ So had she. 

Dave felt like he was going through some sort of mid-life crisis. A life crisis, more like. He went back and played that clip again, heard: "Even if I die I'll keep popping up." And with that, he had implied "but not you, Dirk."

"Go be strangers or something, screw the entire brother thing until he's made up his mind."

Dave was a reincarnation.

He had just seen another Dave's entire life, uploaded onto this shitty computer. Onto the  _past_ Dave's shitty computer. 

 _"I was looking for another Dave Strider. It seems he isn't around."_ Fuck. During their first conversation...

The puzzle pieces clicked into place. Everything unravelled into neat, straight lines. This was the only way everything could make sense: Dave... had become alive again. After dying. That was a thing. He had un-become dead.

For the most nonsensical reason, although now newly confronted with the fact that he and his friends  _had lived several times, for fuck's sake_ , his first thought was of Dirk. Dirk didn't keep the family relation a secret because Dave had been unworthy of knowing. It was because he'd been asked to. It was so Dave could love him freely, if he so wanted. Dirk didn't mind brothers. He had already guessed, suspected that Dave would fall straight into the homosexual land of pink rainbows. The thought seemed to pacify his flipping-out mind, wrapping it up in a warm fuzzy blanket. 

On the other hand, he and his friends were re-incarnations.

Dirk... Dirk didn't seem to be.

 _"...your long immortal life."_ The past Dave had said.

Dirk was the original, somehow. Dave felt another warm wave wash over him. Dirk, Dirk, Dirk. Strong and brilliant and lonely and scared and Dave suddenly felt like  _he_ needed to protect Dirk _,_ the _god_. He was busy letting a crooked little smile grow on his face when he noticed that, from the video feed, Rosina was trying to get into the room. Her hand was on the doorknob, jiggling it and looking for any cranny she could find. It didn't open for her.

Dave's heart stiffened in fear, as though she was some sort of demon sniffing for his blood. What would she do with all this knowledge? She'd pick it apart, pry deep, and look for more ways to antagonise Dirk. He would probably tell her himself, showing only bits and pieces of evidence. Otherwise she'd basically go wild _,_ relish and drain the every word from these newspapers and laptops. The implications of re-incarnation were way too fucking staggering and he wasn't about to go waving that all around. 

He found himself holding his breath until she frowned and walked away. Oh he was  _not_ going to like leaving this room, but he really couldn't afford staying longer while avoiding suspicion. When Rosina was safely in one another section of the apartment, Dave slipped out, the handle turning easily under his hand.

Well.

Now in the corridor, away from the room that was stifling with nostalgia, the ideas seemed kind of ludicrous. Them? Playing some random game, creating a world, becoming gods, and having re-incarnations? That sounded way too far-fetched. Then he remembered seeing evidence of a life he had never lived, seeing photos and names and places that he had never seen, all uploaded onto that laptop, and that pushed his mind back into place. There  _had_ been a Dave Strider who had lived with Dirk. There had been Dave Striders before that, too. But these new facts didn't really change Dave's life. Except for one small thing: Dirk. Dave knew the truth about him now, and that actually-

Rosina rounded the corner and Dave had to snap out of his contemplative trance. She gave him a cool glance, and then said: "It has been nearly two hours. It would be wise to depart." She gave him another look and yup, she definitely knew he had discovered something. "I can only wonder where you have been lurking for the entirety of the investigation. Perhaps you unearthed as many facts as I." There was a hint of a razor-blade there, a threat. Dave ignored it for as long as he could, waiting until they had left the apartment and exited the elevator. 

"Rose..." Dave began quietly. He didn't have an easy, or good, way to approach this situation. It was like a bomb, and he had to find some way of diffusing it. "Dirk is your friend. He's our friend."

"Aren't I certain that this is the case." They stopped in the foyer, to give their final words, a bit like a standoff. 

"Ever wonder why he called you Rose?" Dave wanted to leave her with a question that she had no answer to, then maybe she'd give in to him, and he'd be able to keep feeding her the truth.

She narrowed her eyes at him and suddenly he realised it was going to be far, far more difficult than that. 

"Why, of course. I recently discovered that, in my childhood, my legal name was initially Rose! What a startling coincidence." With another shark smile, she swept out of the foyer.

The bomb might've already gone off in his hands.

\--

The apartment door swung open a little miserably. As miserably as a door could swing, at least. It creaked on its hinges and opened to reveal a dark room. All of the curtains were gently shut, but there was still a dull orange glow of sunlight. Ugh, Dave needed to go get ready for work and then maybe he'd have half an hour spare. "Dirk, you still here?" He called, trying to squash the hope in his voice. "'Cause yeah, I'm cool. Dunno what you were worrying about, the homo prevails." He pushed his shades up into his hair, stifled a yawn, crossed the living room, and saw-

Dirk was kneeling in his bedroom, presenting- was that shoe?

Holy fuck. There was no way. Dave's mood was going through some sort of whiplash with how happy this threatened to make him. 

"Dave Strider." Dirk said solemnly, looking up to meet the director's eyes. "I request that you attempt to wear this shoe, and should it meld to your fine foot, I will have your hand in marriage." Whereas Dave had simply called out "hey im still gay for you" at the door, Dirk was going lengths to show his reciprocity. Dave felt a warm swell in his chest. 

The thing look lopsided and had new stitches on every side where it had probably been sown together after smashing on the concrete (or maybe it had been caught by the hoverboard on the way down, Dave didn't know), but the DS embroidered on was still clearly there. Dirk placed it on the carpet reverently, and settled back onto his haunches to watch the scene unfold.

Dave tried to step into the shoe as gracefully as he could. Tried. The darn thing didn't even fit anymore, considering how much shape it had probably lost when plummeting from the top of a building. His fat foot had just ruined a perfectly ironic scene. Oh my god. 

"Alas," Dirk said, "I have searched far and wide for my prince, visited a thousand and more  _shitty,_ " he broke character there for a moment, "repulsive feet. Where is my prince-!"

Dave swiped the shoe aside and scooped Dirk up into as sloppy of a kiss as he could manage. Dirk stiffened in shock before pressing in closer.

The Dave that was once his little brother would never have done that. The Dave that had been his little bro would never have broken an ironic moment, but fuck if he cared. He thought at this point he loved every single Dave, in all their different ways. 

"That was for the shoe," Dave breathed when they parted. "Now this... this is for you."

Dave lunged and dragged them back onto the bed. 

He definitely did not turn up late for work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow I really hate this chapter. I've been fairly busy so not only is it short, but it also feels really flaky to me. 
> 
> In the meantime, past Dave: what he said. Reality check for all of you, and me.
> 
> So I have siblings. Never, never, never would I ever embark on any form of incestuous activity with them. Jesus, no. Dave and Dirk are stripped of the moral shit in this current situation _because_ of what Dave mentioned: he crushed on Dirk without the family ties, and hence, without the emotional twists that come with incest.
> 
> You all get that, yeah? Even if a little brother says he really just loves his big bro Dirk and says it's all on his free will, he _really has no idea at all._ Emotions are confusing as fuck. It's easy to mistaken any form of longing with "love", or just affection-seeking as "love". As for other people trying to find out whether there's free consent being given, that's even more difficult. There are all these subconscious emotional influences and that's why most DirkDave fanfictions will never, ever, ever, occur or be acceptable in real life.
> 
> That's why incest is illegal. They might get to the age of consent, say the words: "Yes, I want this." But there'll probably be some completely different emotional slosh in their mind that they ultimately deduce as "love" or "wanting". But in reality, is some unhealthy crazy shenanigans. Family bonds always come with strings, man. Family, power dynamics, and a lot of tangled messes of emotion come hand in hand.
> 
> i see a lot of fics where they look into each others eyes and say "wow they want this too lets fuck". Knowing that this _will never be the case_ does detract from the writing a little
> 
> But I know this is fanfiction! We're allowed to take these exceptions, these incredible anomalies that would never occur in the wild, and roll with them. just need to bear in mind, constantly, how unrealistic this all is.  
> Sadly.  
> Haaaaaaaha.


End file.
